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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/27207754">The Diary</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/ADraconicScribe/pseuds/ADraconicScribe'>ADraconicScribe</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>A Warlock in Camelot [1]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Merlin (TV)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Arthur Knows About Merlin's Magic (Merlin), Celtic Mythology &amp; Folklore, Complete, Drama, Evil Morgana (Merlin), Exhaustion, F/M, Gen, Like I’m planning on this maybe being a series and it might not happen in this fic slow, M/M, Magic, Magic Revealed, Merlin is very tired, Mild Horror, Mild Language, POV Arthur Pendragon (Merlin), POV Gwen (Merlin), POV Merlin (Merlin), Post-Season/Series 03, Protective Arthur, Sequel is Posted, Slow Burn, Sort Of, kind of, like very slow, watching the show fic</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-10-26</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-01-27</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-06 18:35:38</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>12</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>119,717</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/27207754</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/ADraconicScribe/pseuds/ADraconicScribe</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Arthur’s worried about Merlin—the servant’s been off for a while now, and he won’t tell the prince why. So when Arthur comes across his journal, he begins to read it, hoping to discover what’s plaguing Merlin. Instead, he finds out his servant’s been hiding more than what’s upsetting him. Meanwhile, Merlin must figure out how to stop Morgana’s latest attack without exposing himself, not knowing that Arthur is in the process of uncovering his largest secret.</p><p>(A sort of “watching the show” fic, except Arthur is reading Merlin’s diary, I don’t re-hash all the episodes word-for-word, and there’s an outside plot.)</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Gaius &amp; Merlin (Merlin), Gwen &amp; Arthur Pendragon (Merlin), Gwen &amp; Merlin (Merlin), Gwen/Arthur Pendragon (Merlin), Gwen/Merlin (Merlin), Gwen/Merlin/Arthur Pendragon (Merlin), Lancelot &amp; Merlin (Merlin), Merlin &amp; Arthur Pendragon (Merlin), Merlin/Arthur Pendragon (Merlin)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>A Warlock in Camelot [1]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/2129970</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>245</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>607</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Collections:</b></td><td>Characters Watching the show, Merlin (TV) FFs, Merlin Based</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Chapter 1</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <strong>Prologue:</strong>
</p><p>Morgana clutched her sister's hand, afraid to squeeze too hard for fear the frail fingers would crack under the pressure. "Sister," she whispered, tears forming in her eyes. Morgause had lain insensible for weeks; it was all Morgana could do to keep her alive. "Please don't leave me," she begged, feeling like a child.</p><p>Morgause had shown her what it meant to be strong, to not know fear. And she loved the older woman for that—she didn't know if she could bear to part from her. Except, Morgause wasn't getting better.</p><p>They sat in a dim, dark room, lit only by a few candles. Though Morgana had tried to air it out, it smelled of sweat and human waste. Morgause lay motionless in the bed, her soft breaths the only indicator she still lived.</p><p><em>Sister,</em> a voice spoke into her mind. It was faint, like a bare finger of wind. <em>I use my last strength to speak with you, so listen well. </em></p><p>"No," Morgana sobbed. "No. You can't leave me." She had worn the same dress for days now, caring for her sister. Morgause's body didn't so much as twitch.</p><p><em>Listen! </em>Morgause commanded. <em>It is my last wish to see you queen, Morgana, and all who have harmed you dead. </em></p><p>"I cannot do so without you," Morgana pleaded.</p><p><em>You can. You're intelligent, powerful, and ruthless—a winning combination. And I will tell you how. I shall not leave you without resources, and I know you will do better than to squander them. </em>Her voice had grown stronger, alive with vigor; this was in contrast to the deathly pallor of her cheeks, the motionless of her limbs and face.</p><p>"I will not squander them," Morgana said, trying to push steel into her voice—but it sounded brittle, like it would crumble with a touch. Morgause would not live long. "Tell me what I need to know."</p><p>
  <em>You will be a wonderful queen. What should've been yours by birthright you will win through conquest. Uther and his spawn will be reduced to shadows during your rule. Our army may have been defeated, but there is always a way to garner forces, if you only know how…</em>
</p><hr/><p>After Morgause died, Morgana buried her at the Isle of the Blessed. It was fitting for a High Priestess. And though Morgause had never technically been ordained, there was no one left to give the title to her. But Morgana knew she deserved it.</p><p>The heat of the day bore down on her, making her sweat through her black gown—black for mourning, black for revenge. Her eyes were dark as she regarded the freshly-churned earth. They were dry; she had cried her fill.</p><p>"I will raze Camelot to the ground," she vowed to her sister's grave. Ruins of once-great structures—made hazy by the isle's heavy magic—stood silent as witnesses. "And I shall bring forth a new kingdom from its ashes: a kingdom of magic. I will be its queen, sister. Not just for myself, but for you. For us all." Trembling, she watched the grave, hoping that somewhere Morgause had heard her.</p><hr/><p>
  <strong>Chapter One: The Sluagh</strong>
</p><p><em>There's something wrong with Merlin, </em>Arthur thought as he watched his manservant crouch by the hearth to start the fire. It wasn't the usual "wrong" things the prince often associated with Merlin: he wasn't abnormally cheerful, saying idiotic things, or rambling at top speed. In fact, the thing that was wrong was the <em>absence </em>of those things.</p><p>Arthur didn't think he'd ever miss the boy's inane prattle, but here he was, missing it. He'd tried all day to pry it out of Merlin, the whatever-it-was, but his manservant had perfected the art of using as many words as possible to say precisely <em>nothing. </em>It was infinitely more frustrating than trying to get him to shut up, though both were equally impossible.</p><p>Arthur grasped his goblet. Could it have been some kind of… girl? Had a wench broken his heart? Had something happened to his mother? Arthur had tried to tell himself that it didn't matter, that there wasn't any reason for him to be <em>involved </em>in or <em>care </em>about Merlin's private life. He was a <em>prince. </em>But he supposed it was his business if Merlin wasn't performing his duties adequately.</p><p>Except, the thing was—Merlin performed his duties just as well (or as poorly) as ever. Still. He wanted to <em>know </em>what had created the circles underneath his manservant's eyes, his hunched-in look. Sometimes, Merlin had bouts of melancholy, but this had lasted a <em>week. </em>A whole week of nothing but "yes, sire"s and silence. It was <em>infuriating. </em>At first, Arthur had thought he'd done something to offend him, but Merlin was usually very clear when he felt Arthur was in the wrong.</p><p>So all that left was something else. But what?</p><p>"Has Gaius been busy lately?" he asked casually, sipping his wine.</p><p>Merlin glanced up from the fireplace. "No more than usual." He stood, wiping his slightly ashy fingers on his trousers. Gentle flame lapped at the wood, and Merlin began stacking Arthur's dishes; he'd take them when he left. His eyes were rimmed with red, and his skin seemed paler than normal, if that were possible. He nearly tripped over his own feet as he moved to straighten Arthur's desk.</p><p>And if <em>that </em>wasn't just the most forthcoming answer. Usually, Merlin would use every available moment to talk about castle gossip or visiting nobles. Sometimes, if Arthur had to make a speech and was bogged down with other duties, he'd write one (and if <em>Merlin </em>knowing how to read and write hadn't been the biggest shock of Arthur's life, he didn't know what was).</p><p>The prince's irritation built as Merlin puttered around the room. "You're not going to take my ear off about how overworked you are?" Arthur demanded. "No 'you made me go up five flights of stairs three times today, and my legs ache'? No 'I had to make Gaius potions and somehow also polish your armor and do your laundry all at the same time'? No anything?"</p><p>If Merlin's apprentice and servant work combined <em>was </em>interfering with his health, Arthur was capable of lightening the load for him. And he'd done it before, in times when bad sicknesses struck the lower town or citadel. There were other servants who could take over some of his duties.</p><p>But all Merlin did was watch him with bruised eyes, almost as though he hadn't even <em>heard </em>him. "If that will be all?" he asked, looking for dismissal.</p><p>"No, that will <em>not </em>be all, <em>Mer</em>lin," Arthur said. "Put the plates down." The manservant looked down at his arms, as if realizing for the first time that he'd picked up all of Arthur's dishes. But he did as his master bade with a clatter (fortunately they were sturdy plates). "And sit."</p><p>Merlin sat.</p><p>Arthur stared at him. He'd been Arthur's servant longer than anyone else—and, admitted only in the quiet spaces of his mind, he'd also been Arthur's <em>friend </em>longer than anyone else. The prince shared most things with his servant, especially when those things were bothering him. And although Merlin often complained, Arthur had not <em>once </em>heard him discuss his own private matters, the way the prince often did.</p><p>He wasn't sure why that was, exactly. Their difference in station? But Merlin disregarded that nearly every day. Something else—a matter of trust? The prince didn't know.</p><p>"Now, what is <em>wrong </em>with you?" Arthur asked, gesturing at him. "Apart from the usual, that is." He said it to lighten the mood, to perhaps goad Merlin into entering some semblance of normal.</p><p>But the manservant, of course, was as impertinent as ever and refused to insult him back.</p><p>"I don't know what you mean," he said, and ever word sounded <em>exhausted. </em>It made Arthur tired just to listen to him.</p><p>"You do. So talk." Arthur leaned back, taking another sip of his wine. "<em>Something </em>is clearly on your mind. Maybe that's the issue; you're so used to emptiness that even the slightest thought bothers you." His manservant couldn't ignore something like that, could he? He'd <em>have </em>to banter back.</p><p>But again, Merlin proved he didn't have to adhere to Arthur's expectations.</p><p>"Yes, that must be it." His blue eyes darted away from Arthur's, and it reminded the prince of the way an animal might dart away if it felt it was in danger. But Merlin had to know there was no danger here.</p><p>For a moment, Arthur thought about trying to cheer him up like he might one of his knights. But he liked to think he'd learned something from his <em>let's-dump-water-on-Merlin </em>and <em>hit-his-arm </em>days; he couldn't treat Merlin the same as his knights because Merlin <em>wasn't </em>a knight.</p><p>"No, that is not <em>it," </em>Arthur said. "Merlin, you've been acting odd—odder than usual, that is—all week." He wanted to know what was wrong, help fix it. He found he couldn't admit those things aloud, however. Merlin and his relationship always seemed to work better without those sorts of declarations.</p><p>And not just because he found them uncomfortable.</p><p>"It's nothing, Arthur," Merlin said, and the prince was relieved to know that at least his manservant still knew his master's name. "I just—haven't been sleeping well." Arthur couldn't tell if it was truth or not.</p><p>"And instead of asking Gaius for a sleeping draught, you've decided to lie listlessly these past seven nights?" Arthur asked.</p><p>"So what if I have?" Merlin challenged.</p><p>"I want to know <em>why. </em>You're not—" <em>Well. Acting normal. Yourself. </em>With so many descriptors, it was hard to choose one—and choose one that didn't reveal an overt concern. "You're practically falling asleep on the job. Which I suppose isn't that far from your normal work ethic, but it's getting out of hand."</p><p>"Well, I haven't fallen asleep. You can complain about me when I've actually <em>done </em>something," Merlin said, standing. "And if there's nothing else you wanted to discuss…"</p><p>"Was it that I insulted you?" Arthur pressed. "Somebody else, perhaps?"</p><p>"No one's insulted me," Merlin denied. He began to gather the dishes again. "I'm fine, Arthur."</p><p>Arthur wanted to drum his fingers on the table, a tick he'd forced himself out of years ago. He debated ordering his servant to sit back down. "You're clearly not fine." Perhaps another approach was in order. "Has something happened to your mother?" Maybe he'd answer specific questions more readily.</p><p>"Not that I know of," Merlin said. "She seemed well enough in her last letter." That was surprising—Arthur had assumed Gaius had taught Merlin to read and write, but he supposed it must have been Hunith if she was learned enough to pen letters.</p><p>"And there is—nothing else?"</p><p>Merlin summoned a smile, a far cry from the one he usually wore. "Nothing. Now—" He lifted up his full hands. "I have chores to do, if you've no further need of me, my lord."</p><p>"Fine. You're dismissed." Arthur waved his hand as Merlin left. He couldn't be bothered to try and weasel whatever it was out of his manservant any more than he already had. He knew when a battle was lost.</p><p>But he would find out. Eventually.</p><hr/><p>It was nice to know Arthur cared. No, really—it was. Under different circumstances, Merlin would've been secretly delighted and spent time teasing Arthur (gently, because his master was difficult about feelings) about it.</p><p>But now?</p><p>Merlin dodged around a servant carrying a basket of laundry, just barely managing to keep the dishes from crashing to the floor. The girl smiled apologetically, and he tried to grin back. Now, Merlin didn't have the time to properly think about or talk to Arthur about his concern.</p><p>He had things to do, and he couldn't exactly say what was bothering him. He wanted to burn as much as the next sorcerer—or warlock. Whatever.</p><p>Morgana was on the move.</p><p>Uther wasn't well, and though Arthur had stepped into the regency competently, the kingdom was still off-kilter. It hadn't been very long since she had taken Camelot, and Merlin had hoped she would spend the time licking her wounds. But apparently not. He was just happy he'd caught her scheme in time.</p><p>He brought the dirty dishes to the kitchen, thinking on what he needed to do next. Arthur had an afternoon council meeting, and then he would want to get updates on the knights from Leon. He'd gone over the pertinent information for the meeting with Arthur earlier, so all that was left was to get him dressed.</p><p>The servant walked back to his master's chambers and helped Arthur get ready silently, thinking on what he needed to do tonight to prepare. <em>Or perhaps during the meeting… </em>Arthur would have no need of him there; the other servants were perfectly capable of pouring his wine for a few hours.</p><p>The more time he had, the better.</p><p>He straightened Arthur's collar and gave him a once-over—it all seemed fine. Regal, even.</p><p>"If you're done gawking…" Arthur leveled his gaze at the servant.</p><p>Usually, at this point, Merlin would snipe something back. And he wanted to, but he was tired, and his brain was plodding along sluggishly, as tepid and lifeless as the gruel he'd had that morning. He had hardly gotten any sleep at all the past seven nights. So all he said was, "Yes, I'm done."</p><p>He opened the door for the prince and allowed him to pass before trailing slightly behind him. Arthur glanced back once, but kept his eyes trained in front of him the rest of the time. Merlin generally walked beside him—or at least when he thought he could get away with it. Walking "five steps behind" or whatever was rubbish. He just didn't think he'd make a good conversation partner right now.</p><p>Arthur nodded to the guards as they opened the door for him to the council chambers. When Merlin didn't follow, the prince turned back.</p><p>"Coming?" he asked.</p><p>"Actually, er, sire." Merlin thought quickly. "Gaius asked if I could prepare some bruise salve, perhaps a few tinctures—we're running low."</p><p>Arthur looked like he was a breath from rolling his eyes, but refrained for the sake of propriety in front of the guards. An exasperated sort of <em>why on Earth didn't you tell me earlier, </em>Mer<em>lin?</em></p><p>"Very well. Off with you then," Arthur allowed and whirled around to take his place at the council table. Merlin gave a small sort of bow and turned away.</p><hr/><p>Merlin suspected Morgause had died. When he had felt Morgana's Working seven nights ago, he'd felt her magic along with several others'—and none of them belonged to the witch's sister. That, likely, was the reason Morgana had decided to attack so soon, or at least that was what he thought. Her sister didn't need time for recovery, and the witch was likely looking for revenge.</p><p>He kept one eye on the door as his eyes flashed gold, heating the mixture to boiling in less than a second. With another flash, it was mixing by itself and cooling rapidly, time almost seeming to speed up inside the pot. Much faster this way. He hadn't necessarily <em>lied </em>to Arthur about the bruise salve—they were running low—but it wasn't something that took a few hours to make, especially not with Merlin's <em>enhancements. </em></p><p>The tinctures had been a lie, however. Gaius was well-stocked on his most common potions and draughts.</p><p>Merlin deftly bottled the salve and—with another glance at the door—magicked the pot clean. Gaius would never know, and what he didn't know wouldn't make him scold Merlin for it. Leaving the salve in the cupboard where it was meant to go, the warlock opened the door to his room. He knelt on the floorboards and pulled out a couple books, ones he'd pilfered from the goblin's room (as he'd taken to calling it in his head) in the royal library.</p><p>One was a book on runes, another a book on other realms. He took them out, and rifled through his things to find a quill and inkpot. It would've been better had he used the desk, but he couldn't afford the risk of being seen if a patient or friend walked into the physician chambers. And he'd use the goblin room, except he'd have to take these books <em>back, </em>not be seen with them, and he'd have to figure out some excuse if someone saw him there, and Geoffrey really didn't like him…</p><p>Awkward situation all around, so best to do it here.</p><p>As he searched through the pages, he scratched his thoughts in the margins. Some things, he thought, were more likely to work than others. But he had a couple hours to figure it out before Arthur would need to be attended to.</p><hr/><p>
  <em>One Week Earlier</em>
</p><p>Merlin didn't often have nightmares. It was strange—as fearful as he felt sometimes, as anxiety-ridden as his days could be—these feelings didn't manifest themselves as bad dreams. And when he did have nightmares, they were usually filled with fire, his friends—especially <em>Arthur—</em>watching as he burned. Sometimes they were warped memories, where he'd been too slow to save Arthur or Gaius or Camelot.</p><p>But the dream he had on this night was like none of those.</p><p>It started normal enough. Merlin found himself doing chores for Arthur, except he kept forgetting what he was supposed to do. So <em>then </em>he had to find the prince to ask every single time he forgot. Strangely, Arthur never seemed to mind, even as dream-Merlin interrupted an important council meeting (about whether the crops should be counted among Camelot's citizens. Many councilors were in favor, as the wheat was said to be willing to trade the best among them for additional water).</p><p>Dream-Merlin stood right next to Arthur and asked him loudly what he was supposed to be doing as the councilors continued to argue the merits of making the vegetables citizens over the table. Dream-Arthur turned in his chair, his crown lop-sided, and said, "You're meant to be washing my socks, Merlin—or don't you remember?"</p><p>"Oh, right," Merlin said. He turned to the councilors. "The cabbage should be counted as citizens, but the turnips shouldn't—at any cost." They all nodded and seemed to note the suggestion, their quills scratching at pieces of parchment in front of them.</p><p>And then the dream changed, morphing around him. The council chambers dissolved, something entirely different rising in its place. Something tugged at him, sucking and pulling and tearing at his skin and clothes, consuming him until he was somewhere else, somewhere far away from the council chambers.</p><p>He found himself in a dark place, dim surroundings lit only by a crimson moon. It hung low in the sky, like a crescent-shaped crack in the otherwise perfect blackness. There were no stars.</p><p>Things gurgled and shifted just out of sight. The red light seemed to slide off gray, mottled skin like oil on water. He caught glimpses of long dark talons at the ends of crooked fingers, flashing teeth in the gloom. It all gleamed with a wetness that reminded him of spilled ink or fresh blood. Eyes darted back and forth—watching him, watching each other.</p><p>Whatever the things were, they gave off a feeling of hatred, of unease. Of violence. Like Merlin was drowning and being burned alive and stabbed and choked all at the same time—as though their spite was a physical thing, a presence. Their stench hit him like a mace to the face. He clapped his hands over his nose, but he could still smell it: sweet rot and death and festering decay.</p><p>He heard someone cry out: a man, by the sound of it. Older, raspy. Merlin looked toward the noise, and in the horrible darkness he could just make out a figure: an old man, stumbling around.</p><p>"Help!" he called. He walked with a limp. The things lurking just out of sight snuffled, seemed to watch the old man attentively. Merlin could feel a hunger growing, mingling with the spite, with the vicious deadliness of their emotions. He wanted to tell the man to be quiet, that they heard him, that he was drawing attention to himself—bad attention. But the warlock couldn't move.</p><p>"Hello?" the old man shouted. The things answered with little yips of glee—almost a cackling. Merlin felt their ravenous hunger grow. "Who are you? Why—why do you laugh?"</p><p>Their giggling grew louder, and Merlin felt sick from the force of their wretched emotions. The things were circling the old man, circling and circling, growing ever closer. The old man seemed to sense something was wrong; he turned to run, but they had him surrounded.</p><p>"Help!" the old man screamed. "What—what are you? Somebody—help me!" Merlin tried to make himself move forward, but all he could hear was throbbing, throbbing—the malice and the hunger and the spite thrumming together in one massive beat. Their laughter grew deafening; Merlin wanted to leave, wanted to save the man—</p><p>Those black talons flashed, and the man shrieked as red blossomed across his abdomen. The things continued to giggle, and Merlin watched some lap at the ground—the soft, red ground, wet-looking, like mud—but his mind wouldn't process what their faces looked like. He could just see the wickedness of their pale, maggoty eyes and the pleasure of their meal in their long, purple tongues.</p><p>The old man screamed and screamed, and Merlin realized that the things had taken their strong, crooked fingers and had grasped his limbs—they were pulling, tugging—his tendons and muscles were tearing, ripping—</p><p>He kept screaming, and Merlin finally made himself move; he clapped his hands over his ears, but it didn't seem to do much good. He could only watch as the old man's arms and legs tore off with horrible sounds, blood sinking into the ground. The things feasted: a writhing mass of hideous flesh and long, spindly arms and lapping purple tongues. The man's screams tapered as he died.</p><p>In the sounds of their eating, he finally regained control over his body, the spell—whatever had stopped him from moving, fear or something else—broken. He stumbled backward, and his foot <em>squelched</em>. His boot sank deep into the ground. But it wasn't mud, like he'd thought—it was <em>flesh-</em>like, pulsing faintly. Pulsing in time to the hunger and anger and hatred. When he lifted his foot, juices dripped off.</p><p>He could tell when their attention moved from their meal; their focus hit him like a hammer to the head, crushing him. <em>They'll tear me apart like they did him. </em>Their soft, cackling laughter started again, and Merlin wondered if it was like wolves howling, if they were communicating somehow.</p><p>Or perhaps they were just mocking him.</p><p>Merlin knew he had to leave, had to flee; he forced himself to turn his back on them, on that writhing, horrible mass of bodies, of things his mind refused to understand for fear it would go mad.</p><p>He tripped as he scrambled away, landing on the soft ground. His trousers and jacket soaked through, he staggered to his feet and ran, the dim moon lighting his way. He could hear their giggles behind him, the squelching of their feet on the ground, the pulsing madness of their fury and aching hunger. Shapes rose around him, alien plant life that was ragged and terrifying.</p><p>A forest sprung up in front of him, filled with bizarre trees. They twisted into shapes that didn't seem possible—some growing into themselves or other trees, bone-white bark pale despite the lack of light. The forest floor was a tangle of roots, and the trees were smooth and naked. When he brushed against them, they were warm and malleable like flesh. Merlin pushed himself forward. The laughter grew louder, louder. He reached for his magic, only to find it not responding. He called on it desperately, willing it forward. It swirled just beneath his skin, but it would not come.</p><p>So Merlin sprinted through the yielding, horrible forest, racing away from the things behind him.</p><p>Their footsteps were meaty as they struck the fleshy roots below—they were getting closer. Their giggles grew louder, louder, like thunder in his ears, like the sky was collapsing on him. Merlin felt sick, as though he might vomit any moment. Sweat trickled down his brow, his breath coming quickly. Something infinitely sharp slashed at his back—those talons, more efficient than any birds'—they would tear him apart, rip him limb from limb—but then his magic finally reacted, rising inside him—</p><p>And things were gone, Merlin snapping awake, back in his room. He hurled himself of his bed just in time to sick up all over the floor instead of his sheets. He coughed, on hands and knees, as his magic roiled inside him, telling him something was <em>wrong wrong wrong. </em>It was nauseating, this sensation.</p><p>Something clung to him, on the inside. He could still feel the pulsing hunger, the spite. The emotions were foreign and pervasive and <em>wrong.</em> His magic churned around them, trying to flush them out, and he could feel his eyes flashing involuntarily, flickering like candle flame. <em>Calm. Calm! </em>He forced the magic down, focusing it inside, and it quieted, though the feeling of wrongness didn't leave. It was like he was too hot and too cold at the same time, and his body shook, unused to the awful sensation. What was it? That had been no ordinary dream.</p><p>Something warm and wet slid down his back. When Merlin reached a hand around, he knew what it was—the slashes that, that thing had given him. Had it been real, somehow?</p><p>He wiped his mouth with one sweat-soaked sleeve and rose on shaky legs, glancing at the door. He heard no rustling, only Gaius's faint snores—his mentor still slept. He would have to clean the vomit later; he didn't feel like he could do anything now, not with this miasma of evil surrounding him, suffocating him. Merlin went to the bucket in the corner—filled with water to wash with in the morning—and rinsed his mouth and face.</p><p>He might be able to ask Gaius for a draught, but Merlin could feel a faint Working—the term for something much more complex than a spell—just out of range of his senses. The emotions, the madness, the hunger—they were the same. He had to stop the Working, or at least find out what was happening—and <em>why </em>it was happening.</p><p>He supposed there was nothing to do but investigate. Fumbling around, he lurched to his cupboards and opened them, trying not to wince as they creaked. He paused, but heard nothing from the other room. Slipping off his nightclothes, Merlin pulled on something more appropriate with trembling hands.</p><p><em>Gods, what is this? </em>He thought he might be sick again. Like a physical illness his body was trying to purge, as though he'd eaten something that had gone off. He needed to be <em>rid </em>of it, whatever it was.</p><p>He buckled his boots clumsily and straightened. <em>Maybe I should wake Gaius. </em>But this wasn't an actual illness—this was some kind of magical reaction. If he could just expand the area of his magical sensitivity… But as he reached for his magic, it coiled and shook inside, and the room spun around him. <em>No. No, there's nothing Gaius can do.</em></p><p>He couldn't show up to wake Arthur like this—it had to be fixed as quickly as possible. And if he didn't get help now, who knew how bad it might get? Help, fortunately or unfortunately, meant Kilgharrah. The dragon was wise, ancient, experienced, and—most importantly—had a vested interest in keeping Merlin alive.</p><p>Merlin did his best to be quiet as he snuck through the physician chambers and out into the hall. Usually he silenced the creak of the door's old hinges with a whispered spell, but he did it the non-magical way, afraid he might make it worse by using his magic.</p><p>From there, it was easy to slip out of the castle and the gate, into the forest. So used to the guards' patterns, he didn't necessarily even <em>need </em>magic to get by. And although this lack of security worried him, he also used it to his advantage.</p><p>Merlin crept carefully away from the citadel with difficulty, his legs quaking unsteadily. The wrongness, the thing making his magic react, was still there. It was slick, sharper than a dagger, more potent than a poison. As he reached the tree line, he leaned on a trunk to keep upright, half-expecting flesh to meet his hand. He gagged, a headache beginning to form.</p><p>
  <em>Oh, gods, make it stop.</em>
</p><p>He forced himself forward unsteadily, one step at a time. The foliage seemed denser than usual, though he knew that was merely his imagination. Still, it took longer than normal to reach the clearing where he could call the dragon. The shadows of the forest reminded him vaguely of his dream, and he was happy to step into the light of a whole, very <em>not red </em>moon, shining brightly onto the grass and dirt.</p><p>Raising his head to the sky and hoping he wasn't about to hurt himself, he called to Kilgharrah in the dragon tongue. He was closer to the source of his magic's disgruntlement—he could <em>feel </em>a Working. It was a parting, a rending. It tasted—because to sense another's magic was like sight or smell, but Merlin equated it most to taste—almost like… Almost like <em>Morgana's </em>magic. The other magic was foreign. From this distance, Merlin shouldn't have been able to feel it; he knew that much.</p><p>It must've been powerful for him to have felt it, then, and a flash of panic shot through him. What if Morgana was doing something <em>right then? </em>What if she was preparing to attack Camelot, and Merlin was left as useless as everyone thought he was because of this—this <em>whatever? </em>He didn't even know what was happening, and he couldn't tell what the Working was meant to do.</p><p>But it seemed as though many sorcerers were there. How had Morgana gathered so many in such a short time? What was she doing? And what of Morgause? He didn't know. He felt sicker by the minute.</p><p>A shadow loomed over the clearing, and with a rush of wind, Kilgharrah landed in front of Merlin, his wings tucking into his back. The golden dragon looked healthy, the warlock was pleased to see. His scales had a shine to them they had lacked when Merlin had first met him. And while Merlin could never—and would never—condone what the dragon had done to Camelot, seeing his kin happier didn't upset him.</p><p>"Young warlock," Kilgharrah said to his small, shivering form. "What have you done?" Merlin's head pounded. How could the dragon blame him for this? He was <em>sick, </em>feeling whatever it was Morgana—if it was Morgana—was doing.</p><p>"What have <em>I </em>done?" Merlin demanded. "I've done nothing! I came to ask what I've been sensing—and <em>why </em>it is affecting me so."</p><p>"The two are almost entirely unrelated," the dragon commented cryptically. He brought his head closer to Merlin and closed his eyes, sniffing. Then, he huffed, ruffling Merlin's hair. "Do you not realize what you've drawn to yourself? You must be rid of the ties between you and the beasts trying to tear your soul from this realm."</p><p><em>What the hell is he talking about? </em>Merlin's head fogged, his heartbeat pounding in his ears like the footsteps of a giant. It reminded him of being poisoned by Nimueh. Except then, at least, he'd been unconscious.</p><p>"'Tear my soul from this realm'?" Merlin repeated, trying not to fall over. "Could you be a little vaguer, please? It's not like this is urgent or anything."</p><p>The dragon snorted and drew back. "The witch and her minions create a Working on this night." He sat on his haunches, like an overgrown, scaly cat.</p><p>"Yes I know—I can <em>feel </em>it, Kilgharrah. We must be leagues away; why can I feel it?" Merlin asked. What was the dragon on about? What was happening? "Can you tell what it's for? And how I can stop it?" Whatever Morgana was doing, it couldn't be good for Camelot.</p><p>And the fact that she'd managed to do it so quickly, a mere month after they reclaimed the citadel and drove her off…</p><p>"You are far more sensitive to any major magicks than an ordinary sorcerer would be," Kilgharrah said. "And this is no petty spell the witch casts. Her magic is full of fury and aided by the magic of many other sorcerers. It is a Working of great magnitude, and it does not bode well for Camelot." <em>Thanks. </em></p><p>"Yeah, wouldn't have figured—Morgana, filled with rage, looking to hurt Camelot. Very unexpected. Could we get to the part where this apparently means my soul is getting torn out?" Merlin asked. He finally relented and sat down as he grew dizzy, his magic spinning in his body like a top. Hopefully, if he passed out, the dragon would help him. Maybe he <em>should've</em> woken Gaius.</p><p>Kilgharrah eyed him, displeased with his tone. "The Working weakens the barrier between this world and a far more wicked one. The witch calls upon an army from another realm—the Sluagh. You came into contact with some, somehow, and they have latched onto you, seeking to bring your soul into their realm where they may feast upon it." Was that what had happened to the old man? His <em>soul </em>had been eaten?</p><p>"I—" How had he come into contact with them? They must have been the laughing things from his nightmare. How could they have been real? His brain couldn't process it, and Merlin shook his head. But at least now he knew what the <em>wrongness </em>was—those things were trying to take his soul. His magic must've been fighting it, somehow. "I did have a strange dream, before I woke. Rotten, spiteful creatures—laughing, in a place of flesh."</p><p>"Foolishness, to project into their world unprepared and alone!" Kilgharrah said. "And now they have attached themselves to you."</p><p>"It's not like I meant to!" Merlin cried, pressing his palms into his eyes. "I don't even know how I did it! I was <em>asleep. </em>How do I get rid of them?" And this army Morgana was summoning—so soon after the immortal army had taken Camelot. An army of… those things? Still Merlin could not recall what they had looked like, only that they'd been horrible, awful—if he had truly been able to comprehend them, he would've gone blind.</p><p>Camelot was still re-building; they wouldn't be able to stand an assault from a normal army, much less these hellish things Morgana was bringing. They weren't anything like the undead army, which had reeked of unnaturalness and death, but not like this—not like this. Merlin's shaking grew until it almost seemed the world was quaking around him.</p><p>Kilgharrah took a deep breath. "I shall help, young warlock. Follow my magic." Merlin barely had time to process the statement before the dragon inhaled and exhaled over him in a familiar golden mist. <em>Follow my magic. </em>Kilgharrah's magic seemed to begin to burn the wrongness off of him—except burning wasn't right because there were no flames. It seemed to burn <em>inside </em>Merlin.</p><p>The warlock did his best to copy what Kilgharrah's magic was doing, though his technique felt clumsy by comparison. It grew more deft as he continued, directing his magic to dislodge what had latched onto him. He heard a faint gurgling, though he didn't think he heard it with his ears. He wondered, vaguely, if he were ever to burn at the stake, if the fire would take him as gently as this one seemed to.</p><p>It lasted for seemingly an eternity, and somewhere far away, Merlin could feel strength return to his limbs, color return to his face. Eventually, he found himself curled on the ground, dawn beginning to lighten the sky. Kilgharrah stood above him, seeming no worse for wear having spent possibly hours there.</p><p>"Do not meddle in soul magic so carelessly," the dragon told him, voice as gentle as he could make it. Merlin looked up—how much time had passed? He'd have to run all the way back to Camelot and sneak in without anyone spotting him.</p><p>At least the headache and shakiness were gone. <em>They were trying to take my soul. </em>He shuddered. The "Sluagh" Kilgharrah had called what Morgana was summoning. Those horrifying creatures that had eaten the old man. But how had Merlin gotten there? How had the old man? He still didn't understand.</p><p>Wait. Morgana summoning an army—was Camelot in danger? Was Arthur in danger?</p><p>Merlin practically jumped to his feet. "Her army—is it here?" he asked. He imagined the creatures coming for Camelot that instant, not having any idea what was coming, and he almost threw up again.</p><p>"Calm yourself, young warlock. There is time yet," the dragon assured. "Sit. Fending off an attack on the soul is not something to be taken lightly." When Merlin didn't go back down immediately, Kilgharrah prodded his chest with one claw. The warlock sat with a thump.</p><p>"I still don't understand what I did," Merlin said. "Or how I did it. And I have to stop Morgana—you need to let me leave."</p><p>The dragon sighed. "You projected yourself. Your soul, rather, into the realm of the Sluagh. To do such a thing in your sleep is not impossible, though I doubt any other would have been capable of the feat. Under normal circumstances, the projector falls into a trance—and they do <em>not </em>go into other realms without numerous precautions," Kilgharrah chided, as though Merlin had <em>meant </em>to project his soul into a different world. He hadn't even known such a thing was possible.</p><p>And the Sluagh again—those monstrous outlines in shifting shadows. That was what Morgana was bringing into the world for her army?</p><p>"But why?" the warlock asked. "Why would you want to project your soul in the first place?" He rubbed a hand over his face—he was going to be late getting Arthur breakfast. He could already hear the irritation in the prince's voice.</p><p>"It is similar to scrying, in that the projector can see things happening over great distances," the dragon replied. "Its advantage is that it is harder to sense than scrying is, and it is possible to access your magic. Its disadvantage is the risk it lends to your soul."</p><p>"And I did this in my sleep?"</p><p>"It appears so. Perhaps the weakening of the barriers triggered it," the dragon said. Merlin hadn't done magic in his sleep since he was eleven summers old, and the thought that he might start doing it again—here in Camelot—nauseated him. To have no control over it, no say in what his magic did… What if he did something in his sleep while they were on patrol?</p><p>
  <em>You have bigger problems. Focus on those. </em>
</p><p>"Right," Merlin muttered. He rubbed his head and got to his feet. "This—this army. I don't understand. Was she summoning it tonight?" Kilgharrah didn't protest at his movement, though his eyes seemed resigned. His emotions were difficult to tell from his body language, even if Merlin liked to think he'd gotten better at reading him.</p><p>"Feel for yourself, young warlock," he said.</p><p><em>So helpful. </em>Merlin didn't say the words aloud for fear Kilgharrah would be offended and leave in a huff. Instead, he closed his eyes and did his best to let his magic loose—going against what he normally did. He searched for what he had sensed hours before (oh, gods, how late he was), and found it leagues away, on the border of Camelot. It would have to be powerful indeed for him to be able to feel it so far away.</p><p>But it seemed incomplete, somehow. Half-finished, the tear just below the surface of the normal world, standing ready.</p><p>"When will it be finished?" Merlin asked, opening his eyes.</p><p>"A month's time," the dragon said. "To rend a hole in this world requires thinner space between them. She called the army forth, likely spoke with what passes for a leader in the Sluagh's realm. Perhaps sent them offerings of souls, a taste of what she will give them later. She will summon them as a plague upon Camelot."</p><p><em>A month. A month and another army, an army made up of those things I saw in my dream, will be upon Camelot. </em>They hadn't fully recovered from Morgana's last attack. Uther was ill; Arthur was settling into his new role as regent… It was a disaster. He could feel the panic start to choke him, its cold fingers wrapping around his neck.</p><p>They had just fought off an army—and now stopping this one rested on <em>Merlin. </em>Camelot didn't know about it, and how could he explain to Arthur how he knew? <em>Oh, yes, I had a strange dream, and I sensed something magical happening with my magical magic, and also I have magic and please don't burn me at the stake Arthur…</em></p><p>Merlin took a deep breath.</p><p>"What are the Sluagh?" he asked. "What is this… realm they live in?" If he was going to be this late already, he might as well make the most of it. And he needed to be as prepared as possible. He couldn't recall seeing the Sluagh in any of the books he'd read; such information might not be available back in Camelot.</p><p>"I shall tell you no more, young warlock," Kilgharrah said. "The rest you are capable of finding out on your own. But I will monitor the witch."</p><p>Merlin couldn't believe his ears. An army was arriving on Camelot's doorstep in<em> one month, </em>and the dragon was refusing to tell him. "You won't tell me anything else?" he demanded. "Fat lot of good you are—half mention something and then not even tell me about it!"</p><p>"Perhaps next time I will allow your soul to be eaten," Kilgharrah said mildly, and Merlin flushed. He <em>had </em>saved him. And he'd offered to watch Morgana, which was more than he usually offered. He was likely tired from expending the magic and staying up half the night (though Merlin didn't exactly know what the dragon's sleep schedule looked like).</p><p>The warlock stood and reached up to pat Kilgharrah's neck. "You're right—I'm sorry. Thank you, friend. I owe you my soul, apparently." He scratched at the scales.</p><p>"I am not a horse. Give me the dignity of not being treated like one," Kilgharrah protested, but he was leaning into Merlin's touch. The warlock didn't know if dragons were social creatures, but this one didn't seem to mind when Merlin pet him (which Merlin did not do in a derogatory way, thank you—he knew Kilgharrah liked it, no matter what the big lump claimed).</p><p>"Fine, fine. I have to be going back anyway." He looked up at the sky. "Thank you again." He was going to be very, very late.</p><hr/><p>
  <em>Present Day</em>
</p><p>"Very well. Off with you then," Arthur allowed and whirled around to take his place at the council table. He heard the guards shut the door behind him, and the councilors turned to face him. Most were stuffy old men, though there were a few stuffy old women. This was the general council, here to discuss things such as trade routes, taxes, and infrastructure.</p><p>Today, they would likely be discussing how the recovery from the witch's attack fared—among other things. Merlin had organized the reports that were most pertinent to the meeting and had helped Arthur memorize the relevant information.</p><p>Arthur took his place at the head of the table, trying not to feel irritated at Merlin for abandoning him to hours of boredom without his faces or commentary to allay it. But maybe it <em>was</em> physician work that was keeping him. The prince would have to talk to Gaius to confirm his suspicions. The physician didn't always make the meetings, forsaking them for his duties. He was absent today.</p><p>The councilors had risen in his presence, and Arthur motioned for them to sit back down. "Gentlemen and ladies," he greeted, taking his own chair. "How do you do on this fine afternoon?"</p><p>A servant behind him came up and began pouring wine for everyone at the table. He was much more efficient than Merlin would've been, and he didn't stop to whisper some inappropriate comment to Arthur under his breath. Though with how strangely Merlin was acting, his manservant may not have whispered anything.</p><p>One of the lords asked after his own health, and the prince gave the customary reply, trying to focus on the meeting and <em>not </em>on his blasted manservant.</p><p>"The first matter we need to discuss—" Arthur began, but was cut off as the doors burst open. Sir Leon stood there, two other knights behind him. He looked disheveled, his hair and clothing askew.</p><p>"Pardon, my lord," he said, bowing low. "I come bearing urgent news." Arthur didn't waste his breath asking whether the news was urgent enough to interrupt a council meeting. Sir Leon was first among his knights; the man knew when something needed to reach the prince (or prince regent, in this case).</p><p>"The report from patrol?" he asked, standing. Such news would likely be necessary to bring to the council anyway—and it sounded as though it couldn't wait. He would hear Leon's tale here.</p><p>"Yes, sire," Leon replied. "Grave news indeed." He paused, as if searching for the words. Arthur again resisted the urge to drum his fingers on the table. "It's M-Morgana, sire. She stirs on the border with Essetir."</p><p>Arthur's blood went cold, frozen in his veins. Morgana? His sister—half-sister, who had marched an immortal army on Camelot only a month before? That Morgana? He fought to keep his face impassive, though thoughts he'd been trying to keep down stirred darkly in his heart. How long had she been betraying them? Why had she taken up magic?</p><p>He didn't know. He might never know.</p><p>His mouth tightened imperceptibly. "The patrol came across her themselves?" He needed proof—he needed to <em>know </em>what she was doing. He saw her bitter, spiteful smirk in his mind's eye, so different from the mischievous one he'd come to know and love. Always, he'd felt as though she was the sister he'd never had, the one person who had staved off the loneliness he'd felt as prince.</p><p>Somewhere inside, he knew that it couldn't have all been a lie. But how much of it was truth? He'd avoided thinking about it for weeks now, putting aside his horror and hurt in favor of re-building the kingdom she'd almost destroyed. The immortal army she'd let pillage the landscape, the innocent citizens she'd murdered herself. It was flooding inside him now.</p><p>
  <em>Control. You're the prince. </em>
</p><p>"No, sire." Leon straightened. "But many townsfolk reported hearing that the witch had been looking for sorcerers—and mercenaries. They could not tell us why, only that it was so."</p><p>"You have done well, returning to Camelot swiftly instead of investigating." Magic was a devious thing, and Morgana had always been clever. One meager patrol would not have been enough to take her, and few of his knights were skilled in subterfuge.</p><p>The knight dipped his head. "Thank you, my lord."</p><p>"So the witch fled to Essetir, sire. Perhaps we could flush her out of Camelot entirely," one of his council members said—the bulky, balding Aldwin. Merlin had once commented that the man was irritating to cater to. The manservant said that the man was a pompous, whining git: he talked big about being able to handle this and that because he'd been a knight, but he was really very particular about the smallest things and preferred every convenience.</p><p><em>I think he retired voluntarily, </em>Merlin had confided. <em>He can't spend two seconds in chilly bathwater, much less spend a night on the ground. </em></p><p>"Perhaps," Arthur said noncommittally. "But Camelot seemed to be her target—she was intent on becoming queen. I doubt she has put those ambitions aside—or would."</p><p>Lord Aldwin frowned. "But is it not better, then, to drive her out? Essetir is a mess, sire. No ruler has yet risen to take control of the kingdom; there would be none to blame us." He clasped his hands in front of him.</p><p>"You make light of something difficult to do, Lord Aldwin," Arthur said. <em>And besides, </em>Arthur added silently, <em>I would not inflict Morgana's wrath on the innocent people of Essetir, all the more unprepared for their lack of a monarch. </em>He wouldn't say that aloud, however. He turned to Leon. "Was there any word of Morgause?"</p><p>The knight shook his head. "None, my lord. There were whispers that the witch has already gathered a number of sorcerers to aid her, though she searches for more."</p><p>Arthur's mouth felt dry. Morgause and Morgana had controlled the immortal army and taken Camelot on their own. He couldn't forget the damage Sigan had done—or any number of individual sorcerers. It sounded as though Morgana was gathering a <em>force. </em></p><p>"Alert the war council," Arthur instructed to a guard behind Leon. "We shall discover Morgana's purpose in bringing so many sorcerers together. We have prevailed against magic before, and we shall do so again. Sir Leon, you are dismissed. I expect a full report to the war council after this meeting is concluded." His knight would have time to rest, eat, and bathe before then.</p><p>"Yes, sire," the guard and the knight said in unison. Leon bowed as he exited, the guard going to alert the war council of the new meeting to take place just after this one.</p><p><em>Merlin had better attend me during the second meeting, </em>Arthur thought as he sat down. He rubbed his temple, hints of a headache forming in the tightening of his forehead, little shoots of pain running up his neck.</p><p>"Now, I believe our first order of business is to determine how the new taxes are affecting the townspeople," the prince began.</p><p>"My lord, are we truly to discuss these things as the witch runs amok on our border?" Lady Muriel asked. She was an ancient old crone, one of the oldest on the council, second perhaps only to Geoffrey. Merlin had sworn up and down he could hear her bones creak like rusted hinges whenever she moved.</p><p>"We have day-to-day matters to attend to," Arthur said. "The kingdom will not stop—not even for Morgana." <em>I bet she would enjoy knowing she strikes such fear even into the oldest of my councilors. </em></p><p>He couldn't get her smirk out of his head. <em>What did Camelot do to deserve such hatred? </em>Morgana had been prone to bouts of vengefulness—but never <em>hatred. It was the magic. </em>It was always magic. It made everything <em>wrong, </em>defying nature's conventions and twisting even the best of people into something unrecognizable.</p><p>He rubbed his temple, wondering how he was meant to stop her this time when they had done so last time just by the skin of their teeth.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Chapter 2</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <strong>Chapter Two: The Journal</strong>
</p><p>
  <em>Six Days Earlier</em>
</p><p>"Where were you this morning?" Gaius asked, sitting across from Merlin at the table. The warlock was practically inhaling his dinner—he hadn't eaten all day. He'd put Arthur to bed for the night (this was what he called it in his head, "putting Arthur to bed." The man was a child, really, needing his blankets tucked in and everything). The prince had been predictably furious at his servant's tardiness. "You weren't in your room when I woke. I hardly knew what to tell Arthur when he came storming in here, demanding to know where you were."</p><p>"Sorry, Gaius." The two had barely spoken five words to each other the whole day. Merlin had been tasked with mucking out the stables and scrubbing Arthur's floor as punishment—two of his most labor-intensive chores. "I didn't mean to worry you."</p><p>"Perhaps you could apologize by telling me where you were," Gaius said mildly, his eyebrow raising.</p><p><em>Right. Yes. </em>Morgana had been like a weight on him all day, lead bound to his limbs. He hadn't been able to focus—though perhaps that had been accidentally projecting himself into another realm in his sleep. After leaving the forest, he'd been dazed, off-balance. Distracting sensations had kept him from fully focusing on his chores: an odd wornness, a bad taste lingering in his mouth, tingling in his hands. His magic had been agitated, but tired at the same time—like a cornered animal that had fought until all its energy was gone.</p><p>And just thinking about what he'd seen in his dream… He hadn't been able to avoid thoughts of that crimson-lit world.</p><p>Merlin didn't meet his mentor's eyes. "What do you know about the Sluagh?" he asked, stirring his stew. Turnips and cabbage, mostly.</p><p>Fortunately, it seemed Gaius was in the mood to humor him. "I recall hearing—or perhaps reading—the term, but I cannot remember where. Why do you ask?"</p><p>"I—" Merlin scrubbed a tired hand over his face. A month. A whole month to figure out what to do. <em>What </em>am<em> I supposed to do? </em>He felt that same choking panic, that same anxiety he always felt. It had gotten easier to manage, but it had never truly faded. He was constantly drowning, in over his head. Camelot—and Arthur's life—often rested on his shoulders—and, he'd realized throughout the day, he'd failed them.</p><p>Truly, he had. He might have helped to drive off Camelot's enemies; he might have saved Arthur's life. And yet, neither had been enough. People had still died—people he might've saved, had he been but faster and stronger. Braver.</p><p>He knew this, now: Camelot could not withstand an attack so soon after the last. Their men were depleted, their fortifications weakened, their people disheartened. Not to mention… He recalled the invasive, perverted feeling of something clinging to the most intimate part of himself. The Sluagh, trying so desperately to tear apart his soul as they had torn apart that old man and devoured him…</p><p>He refused to think of the same thing happening to Camelot's citizens.</p><p>In the past, the warlock had let his enemies make the first move—striking pre-emptively had never been his strategy. Instead, he had fought the battles as they came, learning what he needed to on the fly.</p><p><em>A month. A month to prepare. </em>He would not be idle, as he had been in the past—Camelot (Arthur, Gwen, Lancelot, Gaius, Percival, Leon, Gwaine, the townspeople) could not afford it. He couldn't strike first; the shadows he lived his life in would never permit it. But perhaps he could protect <em>better. </em>More thoroughly.</p><p>"Are you alright, my boy?" Gaius asked, reaching across to take his hand. <em>He won't like this, </em>Merlin thought. The older man's mouth drooped, concern etched in the lines of his face.</p><p>"I'm fine," Merlin assured. This new vigor, alight inside him, gave him new purpose. He gripped Gaius's hand gently. "I'll tell you what happened." And he did. He told him of the dream (though his words were shaky when he spoke of the man, when he admitted his own helpless paralysis), of waking up sick, of what Kilgharrah had said. Gaius was quiet throughout, as he often was when Merlin spoke to him of his adventures. After he finished, the quiet stretched, broken only the soft crackling of the fire.</p><p>"You should've woken me," his mentor finally said.</p><p>"There was nothing you could've done," Merlin muttered, though he felt guilty for it. He wondered if perhaps his magic had urged him to find Kilgharrah, or if he'd known, somewhere inside, that Gaius hadn't had the ability to help save his soul. "I still don't understand how I did it—the projecting. I've never done anything like it before."</p><p>"I don't believe that's quite true," Gaius said.</p><p>Merlin blinked. "What do you mean?"</p><p>Gaius's eyebrow somehow seemed to inch higher and higher on his face. "When Arthur sought the Mortaeus flower, a ball of light appeared in your hands. You called his name, telling him what to do. It makes sense that you projected yourself unconsciously in an attempt to protect him."</p><p>"Oh." Merlin had forgotten he'd done that. It seemed like a thousand lifetimes ago, Nimueh poisoning him. The warlock barely remembered the event itself: it remained a haze of pain and desperation in his mind. Though, if he concentrated, he could recall seeing Arthur, clinging one-handed to a precipice. "But you truly know nothing of the Sluagh?"</p><p>"You can begin searching through my books tonight, if you wish," Gaius said, standing. He moved across to his shelf. "I have some on other realms. But depending on how close the Sluagh are to magic…" He picked out a few and dropped them on the table in front of Merlin.</p><p>"I know." He wondered how much knowledge had been lost in the Purge, knowledge that could've taught him about himself, about magic. Uther had been thorough in his self-appointed goal to eradicate all magic. And though Arthur wasn't so zealous, he also wasn't much better.</p><p>
  <em>And whose fault is that?</em>
</p><p>"I'll help you search tomorrow," Gaius said, sitting down again.</p><p>"Gaius." Merlin searched his mentor's face. "Camelot is weakened and not yet ready to take on another army. I fear—I fear staying entirely in the shadows this time will not be an option if it is to stand."</p><p>Gaius's mouth tightened. "Merlin, whatever you are thinking, it's far too risky. Arthur will have your head—or Uther, should he recover." Though the physician had quietly informed Merlin that the king grew worse, not better. He was unlikely to ever heal from the betrayal of his daughter.</p><p>"Better the head of one man than all the heads in Camelot," the warlock shot back, and he recognized, as it came from his mouth, that he'd been thinking it quietly in the back of his mind all day. "I can't watch people die anymore, knowing I could've done something." He'd done it so often before. Of course he'd eventually stopped the threat, but he often spent time panicking before hand, trying to figure out what to do.</p><p>It was the price of secrecy. But the price was too steep, this time.</p><p>"Think of Tom—and Gwen. Overt interference in the past has only led to the accusation of innocents," Gaius pressed. "You can't be thinking to do such a thing."</p><p>"You didn't see them," Merlin said. The shifting forms, the laughter. The <em>malice. </em>The place of flesh, the terrible trees, the red moon. The way they had torn the man apart. A nightmare—the memories had a distinct fuzziness to them, but they had been all too real. "Arthur won't be able to defeat Morgana alone—and there are other sorcerers with her, this time."</p><p>"I am not suggesting you don't help, my boy. I only ask you take no unnecessary risks!" <em>Unnecessary risks. </em>Gaius meant risks to Merlin himself, but really they were risks to Camelot. When Merlin refused to act, it wasn't him who suffered for it.</p><p>"I have no choice," Merlin whispered. He'd never had a choice, really. <em>Poison Morgana, Merlin. Release the dragon, Merlin. Defeat the sorcerer, Merlin. Save Arthur, Merlin.</em></p><p>
  <em>Save Camelot, Merlin. </em>
</p><p>"There is always a choice," Gaius told him.</p><p>Merlin looked up. "Then I choose this. The army will not enter Camelot; there are ways to defend a city. Great shields, runic magic." He'd been toying with the idea for a while. His spell book mentioned such things, though it never went into any detail. It was a <em>spell </em>book, after all, not a book on runes or Workings. Things Merlin had only read hints of.</p><p>"And you think you will be able to do this? By yourself, in such a short amount of time?" Gaius questioned. "Merlin, think! This is madness. Camelot has faced armies before. There will be a way to defeat it—a way without taking such risks like <em>open magic!" </em></p><p>But Merlin had thought. He had thought for a long while. And he was constrained, limited by the shackles of secrecy. Caged by lies. And people had died because of his need for shadows. "Gaius, the army won't be <em>human. </em>How well can Camelot defend against such things?"<em> It may be madness, but I will not return from this battle to find my friends' bodies lying in the courtyard. </em></p><p>Who knew what sort of magic the Sluagh was capable of on this side of the tear? A shield alone might not even be enough; Merlin would have to look into all sorts of magic to make sure Camelot was as strong as he could make it.</p><p>"So research the Sluagh. Please, don't be foolish," his mentor begged. "To do such open magicks as you say…"</p><p>"The king is ill," Merlin began. "Arthur is an excellent regent, but he is new to the role. Morgana has other sorcerers on her side, though I don't know how she persuaded them. What I usually do will not be <em>enough." </em>It was something he feared: failure. Failing Arthur. Failing his home. Watching as Morgana—leading an army of horrific creatures—destroyed Camelot and everyone within it.</p><p>"I could not bear to lose you," Gaius confessed. "Not to the pyre, my boy." That was another of his fears. Merlin didn't want to die, but he wanted everyone else to die less. The stew tasted poorly in his mouth—flavorless.</p><p>"And I cannot bear to watch all of Camelot burn. I will research the Sluagh—and Morgana's Working. But I don't think there will be anything as convenient as spilling a cup of blood this time." And really, it <em>had </em>been rather convenient. Many of the solutions to Camelot's magical problems had been convenient, though others had not been so easy to solve.</p><p>"And how do you plan to get all this information?" Gaius asked. Merlin had been thinking about it all day, and it had finally come to him as he'd passed the royal library.</p><p>"The goblin room," he replied. "And if it's not there, I'll muddle through. I have a month."</p><p>"A month can pass in the blink of an eye," his mentor warned. "Especially when trying to do something as you plan to do."</p><p>He wasn't wrong. Merlin finished his stew, eyeing the books. Each of them was thick, and it would take hours to look through them properly. Magic might speed it along, but he would have to actually read any relevant information he found. And he was already tired from staying up the night before, as well as fighting off the attack on his soul (even though Kilgharrah had done most of the heavy lifting).</p><p>"I'll make it work. I need to warn Arthur about the army, somehow," Merlin said, thinking. He couldn't pass it off as a "funny feeling." One didn't get funny feelings about armies, and it wasn't like Arthur would believe him, anyway. He thought Merlin was a fool.</p><p><em>Don't be so bitter. He doesn't think you're a complete idiot; he considers you a friend. </em>Even if he never voiced such things aloud.</p><p>"And how will you do such a thing without alerting him to your magic?" Gaius asked. "You cannot do so many things at once—you'll be overwhelmed." <em>I'm always overwhelmed. </em>It had grown easier with time, though. And this would only be a temporary situation.</p><p>"I have a month," the warlock repeated. "I'll muddle through." He'd always muddled through, always seemed to choose the wrong thing. Healing Gwen's father, poisoning Morgana, releasing the dragon. It always spun out of control.</p><p>He prayed to the gods that this choice was the right one—the one that would save Camelot and Arthur. His home.</p><hr/><p>Later that night, Merlin cursed softly as he knocked over a vase from where it rested on a shelf in the library, quickly extinguishing his magical light. Glancing around, he darted behind a bookshelf (nearly bumping his shoulder into it in his haste) as a guard came to investigate the noise. The warlock crouched down, hoping the guard wouldn't move further.</p><p>He heard a crunch as the guard stepped on a broken piece of vase, and Merlin winced. <em>Geoffrey will ban me for life if he finds out I broke that. </em>He could see the light from the guard's flickering torch.</p><p>"Must've been a rat or something," the guard muttered before leaving.</p><p><em>Why do we even have guards so close to the library? </em>Except they were always patrolling at night, making sure no one was trying to sneak around the castle to relieve the nobles of their valuables.</p><p>Merlin waited until he could no longer hear the guard's footsteps before sighing loudly in relief. With a whispered, "<em>Léoht," </em>his light re-formed, hovering just above his palm.</p><p>The library was almost eerie in the dark, shadowy shelves extending on either side of him. His boots made soft noises on the stone as he searched for the shelf he'd originally stumbled upon to open the goblin room.</p><p><em>How does Geoffrey find anything in this place? </em>Despite his years of living there, the warlock still wasn't sure how the old man organized the books, though there clearly <em>was </em>a system. He'd explained it once, on Merlin's second or third day in Camelot, but Merlin had forgotten. He didn't have the courage to ask again, though it was humiliating to always need help from the librarian, who clearly didn't like him.</p><p><em>It was toward the back, maybe? </em>Merlin made his way around, glad this time that Geoffrey hadn't fallen asleep at the desk. It was no wonder the man had back problems, sleeping like that. Instead of prescribing draughts, Gaius ought to tell him to spend the night in his bed.</p><p>The warlock found a familiar range of titles. He began fiddling with the books, trying to find the right one. The things hadn't been dusted in ages, and Merlin sneezed once, twice, three times—all in succession—as he searched for the book to trigger the entrance. He was beginning to think he had the wrong section of shelf when there was a noise—a sort of click—and he was rotated into the goblin room.</p><p>It looked as he remembered: dirty, cobwebs in the corners, books and knickknacks littered on tables and shelves. It was all decaying, dying, and Merlin felt almost a sense of loss. <em>These are all that's left of Uther's Purge. These, and a few vengeful sorcerers. </em>The bones of something that had once been lively and beautiful.</p><p>
  <em>Gods, you're becoming gloomy. Just look for the damn books. </em>
</p><p>Using a spell he'd learned from his spell book, he tried to bring forth books that contained relevant information. Five flew from their shelves in unison, and Merlin yelped, ducking. They soared above him and landed with a collective <em>thunk</em> behind him. He turned, wincing; the tomes had to be old. But as he bent down to pick them up, they seemed to be in relatively good shape, aside from the dirt.</p><p>"<em>Áswæpest," </em>he whispered, and the books practically gleamed as the dirt vanished. He didn't necessarily <em>need </em>spells for many of the things he did, but after going so long without knowing any proper ones… He enjoyed the way the language of the Old Religion rolled off his tongue, as swift and smooth as water.</p><p>He settled down onto the floor, his light bobbing beside him, to read the books. Three of the five weren't in the common tongue. Of those, two were in Latin, and one in an old dialect Merlin didn't recognize. <em>Perhaps Gaius will. Or perhaps he knows a translation spell. </em></p><p>He opened the one called <em>Otherworldly Realms and Their Residents. </em>He flipped through the pages, flying past lands of the Fae (including the Sidhe) and the land of the dead, guarded by some being called the Cailleach. And then he saw it: the Sluagh. And the realm they resided in, called <em>Flæsc </em>in the old tongue.</p><p>…<em>The Sluagh, also known as the Underfolk, are corrupted beings that found themselves trapped in </em>Flæsc. <em>The realm's magic is spiteful and invasive; beings who are trapped slowly transform into monsters, giving into madness and the ravenous hunger that mark this realm. These beings include Fae, mages, and non-magical humans. Anything that wanders into their realm is twisted into something filled with malice, though the Sluagh are the only sentient creatures within </em>Flæsc<em>.</em></p><p>
  <em>Despite the Sluagh's intelligence, their corruption can make them difficult to reason with. They hunger for souls above all else, though it isn't clear why, for they do not require souls to survive. There is some speculation that they resent their corruption and take it out on the unwary. Other scholars have theorized that by taking a person's soul, they prevent the person from passing into the afterlife, something that has been denied to them by their transformation.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>No one who has seen the Sluagh and lived to tell the tale has been able to describe them. There are reports of dark laughter, and some glimpse specific body parts, such as claws, fangs, or eyes, but none can give a complete description of the creatures, aside from the horror they felt at seeing them. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>The Sluagh attack only from the west—and they travel in large groups called hordes. They may take on many forms when in our world, though they often prefer crows, ravens, bats, or other winged beasts to disguise themselves. They fight savagely, devouring both flesh and soul, and are stronger than any average man. Their stamina and endurance are unmatched, and only powerful magic is capable of defeating them. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>Though they cannot access their magic except to change forms, it brings crop-blight and ruin wherever they pass. Water is tainted; the very young and very old die; babes are born with deformities. If they have a weakness, it is their madness. They fight chaotically and without coordination, though this can also make them unpredictable. </em>
</p><p><em>However, the barrier between our world and </em>Flæsc <em>is thin enough only on Samhain for the Sluagh to come through naturally. Elsewise, there are ways for mages to bring them forth…</em></p><p>Merlin thought, <em>I need to write this down. </em>His journal was back in his room; he'd have to either bring it here, or bring the books there. He examined them critically—it looked like they'd fit under his board. The warlock nearly dumped them all on the floor again as he gathered them in his arms, standing.</p><p>At least he'd found some information, though it looked as though the Sluagh were going to prove formidable enemies. He wondered how Morgana planned to control them; from the sounds of it, their goal would be to destroy Camelot, not overtake it for her to rule. And depending on how many she summoned… There had to be a way to figure it out. He needed to find the exact spell she'd used.</p><p>Merlin looked down at the books in his arms.</p><p>
  <em>This is going to be a long night.</em>
</p><hr/><p>
  <em>Present Day</em>
</p><p>On the bright side, Merlin no longer had to warn Arthur about Morgana.</p><p>The prince paced back and forth across his room, the sort of prowl that meant he was deep inside his own head. Sometimes he paused to say something, but it wasn't really directed at Merlin. He was saying his thoughts aloud; he would expect input from his servant later.</p><p>Merlin sat at the table (because he was sore enough without sitting on the <em>floor, </em>he didn't care what Arthur said) polishing Arthur's gorget. Without thinking, he polished symbols into the metal with his cloth. <em>Luis </em>for protection against magic; <em>Uathe </em>for defense; <em>Duir </em>for strength; <em>Saille </em>for healing; <em>Eadhadh </em>for shielding. His eyes flashed gold, imbuing the invisible runes without his deliberate will.</p><p><em>Oh, shite. </em>He closed his eyes until the magic passed. Like putting magic into words in the old tongue created spells, putting magic into the Old Religion's symbols created a lasting enchantment. The strength and longevity of the enchantment depended on the amount of magic put into the runes and how long the runes themselves lasted.</p><p>Merlin had spent nearly all of last night testing runic configurations (the word for when a sorcerer put magic into more than one rune. The runes had to be linked together, as well, for the magic to flow and work). He'd also spent the past few hours testing configurations. It had been an unconscious, accidental thing to polish the shapes into Arthur's armor. His exhaustion dampened even the panic at the thought of Arthur seeing.</p><p>
  <em>If I don't get more rest tonight, I might just start casting spells in the courtyard. </em>
</p><p>"Sleeping, Merlin?" the prince said, and from his tone, Merlin knew he couldn't have seen anything.</p><p>"Only resting my eyes, sire," Merlin replied. He wanted to add something like they were tired of looking at Arthur's face, but it didn't quite sound witty enough. He opened his eyes as the magic passed completely and carefully resumed polishing.</p><p>
  <em>No more of that, now. You'll prove to be the idiot Arthur claims you are. </em>
</p><p>"Hm." The prince sat next to Merlin, finally paying attention to the dinner his servant had brought him. Arthur was tense, his shoulders practically scrunched to his ears. His hands were white around his fork. "I just wish we knew what she was up to."</p><p>There was no need for the servant to ask for clarification; it was obvious who the <em>she </em>was.</p><p>"Not anything good," Merlin replied. He set aside the gleaming gorget in favor of Arthur's pauldrons.</p><p>"Yes, thank you, <em>Mer</em>lin, for that brilliant commentary. Where would I be without you?" the prince asked, spearing a piece of meat—boar, Merlin thought.</p><p>"Probably dead," the warlock muttered, keeping his eyes on the metal in front of him. He did his best to keep to non-runic shapes.</p><p>"What was that?"</p><p>"I said 'probably not fed,'" Merlin said, speaking louder. Arthur took a sip of his wine and leaned back, watching the fire.</p><p>"I'm the prince," he said. "I can fend for myself." It was clear his heart wasn't in it, focused as he was on the news of his sister. <em>I have to figure out how to tell him about the army. </em></p><p>"And yet <em>I</em> bring you all your meals. I don't think you even know where the kitchens are." That probably wasn't true. Arthur knew the castle layout for the sake of defending it, though he likely wouldn't have known where the kitchens were otherwise.</p><p>The prince gave him the look—the <em>Merlin-you-are-an-idiot </em>look. "So says the man who couldn't hunt an animal if it came and laid down at his feet." On a better day, Merlin might have had a response, but today all he did was grunt, setting down Arthur's beautifully polished pauldrons. He set about finishing the armor with the prince's helmet.</p><p>They sat in companionable silence for a time, the only noises the crackling fire, Arthur's utensils, and Merlin's polishing.</p><p>"I have to send out a patrol to investigate further," the prince said finally. He'd cleaned off his plate. "Perhaps go myself. We must know what she schemes."</p><p><em>She comes with an army of corrupted, evil Fae and humans called the Sluagh. </em>It would be so easy to say it, to tell Arthur what he faced. It would be so easy, but also so, so <em>hard. </em>Merlin couldn't do it; he refused to risk his life here. <em>You risk it anyway. </em></p><p>"You're regent now, Arthur. Maybe you should allow Sir Leon to go out again," Merlin suggested. "Accompanied by a small band of knights for reconnaissance." If he could get Lancelot on that patrol, he could tell his friend what was happening. Then, Lancelot could tell Arthur. It was the perfect opportunity.</p><p>The soft light seemed to set the prince's hair a-glow. He sighed. "You're not entirely incorrect." Which was as good as Arthur saying Merlin was right. "I'll send him with Sir Barric, Sir Rodney, and Sir Hadden. They are skilled at being unseen—"</p><p>"No!" The word tore out of Merlin's throat before he could think twice about it, and he accidentally dropped his polishing cloth. Arthur turned to him incredulously.</p><p>"And why ever not, <em>Mer</em>lin?" the prince demanded.</p><p>"Er." <em>Oh gods. Think, man! </em>"They may be skilled at being unseen, but they are poor at blending in with the common folk. Might, um, Sir Elyan or Sir Lancelot be better choices?" His voice rose too high at the end in his haste for Arthur to reconsider his pick for the patrol. He covered his burning ears by bending down to pick up the cloth. When he came back up, Arthur was still eyeing him oddly.</p><p>"That's a valid point," he acknowledged. "Sir Rodney is rather stiff and formal, even for a knight. And Sir Barric disdains the common folk." Merlin had rather gathered that fact from his infrequent run-ins with the distasteful man; he'd almost pushed Merlin down a set of stairs once. "Sir Elyan and Sir Lancelot will make excellent replacements."</p><p>The servant tried not to let his shoulders sag in relief. He knew Lancelot would be willing to help him (especially since it would give Arthur the information he needed to prepare Camelot).</p><p>"When will you send them?" Merlin asked.</p><p>"Tomorrow at noon, I should think. They will make it to the border by evening, take up in one of the taverns nearby. And it will give them enough time to prepare. I need to formulate a strategy." That would provide Merlin with plenty of opportunities to tell Lancelot.</p><p><em>How much easier this would all be if I could only tell you, </em>Merlin thought with some frustration. He set Arthur's helmet down more firmly on the table than he intended to, rattling the dishes.</p><p>"If you're done denting my armor, this needs coming off," Arthur said, rising and gesturing to his (many) layers of clothing. Obligingly, Merlin helped him with his cloak and doublet and shirt and belt. Arthur removed his boots and pants.</p><p>The manservant bundled up the clothing that had been removed. The shirt, trousers, socks, and cloak needed washing. He brushed the doublet off and laid it across the table as Arthur pulled on his nightwear. It was nearing the Equinox, but it wasn't cold enough yet for the prince to need to sleep with a shirt.</p><p>"Shall I leave the fire?" Merlin asked, beginning to put out the candles as the prince climbed into bed.</p><p>"Yes," Arthur replied.</p><p>The manservant briefly organized the prince's desk for ease of use in the morning. He piled the soiled clothing into the corner to pick up tomorrow. He stopped the watered-down wine and put the polishing cloth away, making an effort to be quiet as he gathered Arthur's dirty dishes.</p><p>The prince's soft breathing filled the chamber, which, Merlin knew, would give way to snores soon enough (Arthur refused to believe his manservant's staunch assertion that he made noises like an angry bear when he was asleep, which Merlin thought was sheer vanity).</p><p>"Good night, Arthur," he said quietly, not sure if the prince was still awake. But he heard a mumbled "<em>shut up, M'lin" </em>and smiled. He opened the door and left the chambers, muffling his yelp as he saw a shadowy figure standing in the hall. He just barely managed not to drop all of his plates, which surely would've caused enough of a racket that Arthur would've stormed out to see what was happening.</p><p>The figure stepped into the light. "I'm sorry, Merlin! I didn't mean to scare you," Gwen said, voice hushed. "Here, let me help." She took away a couple of the top dishes Merlin was trying to juggle.</p><p>"Gwen!" Merlin greeted in delight, doing his best to smile. He didn't want to worry her; Gwen had enough of her own troubles right now, trying to find work. He knew she'd been doing odd jobs around the castle—extra washing, helping with banquets—and supplementing her income with on-the-side sewing (and a bit of blacksmithing, though she kept that secret from everyone but Merlin. It wasn't ladylike, after all, and people wouldn't buy her trinkets if they knew a girl had made them). "What are you doing here?"</p><p>"Waiting for you, of course. Arthur had you late tonight, didn't he?" Gwen said as they began walking down the hall.</p><p>The manservant shrugged. "No later than normal. You could've come in, you know." Arthur (and Merlin) would've enjoyed the distraction. Gwen was good fun to be around: very cheery and positive. Arthur would've said that <em>Merlin </em>was cheery and positive, but Gwen seemed to radiate the emotions.</p><p>"It wouldn't have been proper—there would've been gossip," Gwen replied.</p><p>"That's not what you said when you and Arthur ate in his chambers—practically alone, might I add—a few weeks ago," Merlin said. Alone except for Merlin. It seemed the two could never go on a proper date without their chaperone (when Merlin had made to leave, the prince had asked who was meant to pour the wine, and Gwen had said to stop teasing him. The three of them had ended up sitting, drinking, and eating together).</p><p>"Merlin!" She laughed. "I suppose you're right. It just would've been awkward. And it was <em>you </em>I wanted to speak to, not Arthur."</p><p>"Something not meant to reach his royal pratiness's ears? Have you done something, Gwen?" Merlin teased, louder now that they were out of the hall. They made their way down to the kitchens together, and the manservant could pretend this was during one of his first months here. When nothing had been so complicated, and keeping up with Arthur, chatting with Gwen, and studying with Gaius had been all he seemed to do.</p><p>"No." Gwen eyed him, almost nervously. "It's just—are you alright?"</p><p><em>Oh. That. </em>First Arthur, now Gwen. Were all his friends going to ask him that? Was he really so transparent? <em>You did sort of start accidentally casting spells right in front of the prince, </em>one part of him said. <em>Shut up, </em>Merlin told it.</p><p>"I mean—you look really tired. Not how you normally look." When the warlock didn't respond immediately, Gwen hurried to say, "Maybe it's none of my business, but you've really been helpful about keeping me on my feet ever since Morgana, and I want to make sure you're okay. I—I didn't mean to offend you, if that's what I've done."</p><p>"It's fine, Gwen. I'm not offended." She must've been tired, too; she hardly ever rambled like that in front of him anymore. "I haven't been sleeping well, is all." They reached the kitchens, and both of them paused, knowing the conversation wasn't over.</p><p>"Is something bothering you?" she asked, her brown eyes earnest.</p><p><em>There's an army of monsters and a group of sorcerers—led by Morgana—headed to Camelot, and I have to figure out how to stop them. </em>His research into the Sluagh had only reinforced his determination to set up magical defenses for Camelot; regular wood and steel would do nothing against the things. And the thought of Gwen or Arthur being ripped apart, as the old man had been…</p><p>He looked away from her eyes. Somehow, her open concern was better at cutting him than Arthur's veiled worry had been, though he had felt just as guilty for lying. "Nothing you can help with."</p><p>"You don't know that until you've told me," Gwen said gently. "Please, Merlin. You've always been there for me; let me be there for you."</p><p>He couldn't. He couldn't tell her or Arthur or anyone but Gaius, Lancelot, and the dragon. There <em>was </em>no one else to tell; he wouldn't risk it. Will had known and had died, and Gaius and his mother had come close.</p><p>"Thank you. You're a good friend, Gwen. I—I'll be okay," Merlin assured. And then, because she looked like she might argue, he darted into the kitchen to escape. A coward's move, perhaps, but he was nothing if not a coward. The kitchens were nearly empty, but it was no place for a private conversation.</p><p>Gwen followed him a moment after. She tried to carefully disguise the hurt on her face, schooling her expression, but Merlin could still see it in the way she delicately placed the dishes down. He knew her too well, and he wondered if she could see the guilt and regret in the way <em>he </em>moved.</p><p>"Good night," he told her, and she nodded.</p><p>"Good night," she said, but she did not meet his eyes as he turned and left.</p><hr/><p>Arthur's lazy, good-for-nothing, <em>troublemaker</em> of a servant was nowhere to be found. He was meant to be bringing the prince breakfast and helping him dress. Instead, Arthur had been forced to dress himself as best he could and ask a guard in the hall to fetch a servant for him.</p><p><em>I'm meant to be telling the knights their mission, not looking around for a lackadaisical servant! </em>But here he was, tromping through the halls and demanding to know if anyone had seen Merlin. Everyone shook their heads, answered, "No, sire," and moved on. It was probably un-regent like behavior, but if Arthur had gotten away with it as a prince, he could get away with it now.</p><p>"<em>Mer</em>lin!" he shouted again, hoping the boy's overly large ears would catch the sound of his voice. But there was no reply or sheepish-looking Merlin poking his head around the corner. Arthur had been hoping to go over his plans about the knights with Merlin before he sent them out.</p><p>Arthur practically ran into a serving boy, and he didn't even bother to assure the poor stuttering teenager that it was all right before charging off again. <em>If Gaius tells me he's in the tavern… </em>Merlin had already been severely late almost a week prior, without any true explanation. In fact, it had been the beginning of his sleep-deprived, gloomy state. <em>Maybe disappearing again will set him to rights. </em>But knowing Merlin…</p><p>At last, the prince reached the physician chambers. He knocked (in case Gaius was with a patient in a state of undress, which had unfortunately happened before) and entered when he heard no reply.</p><p>"Gaius?" he called. The room appeared to be empty. The workbench and table were as cluttered as ever, filled with medicinal things Arthur knew nothing of. Was his court physician missing along with his bumbling manservant? Arthur had hoped to ask him if Merlin's workload needed to be lightened, if his apprentice work in combination with his job was creating too much stress.</p><p><em>Dammit, Merlin. Why do you always have to be so difficult, even when you're not here? </em>Perhaps Arthur could find some sort of clue as to what was troubling his manservant. He gazed critically over the chambers. <em>It doesn't appear to be more cluttered than usual. </em>But it was hard to tell. Maybe Merlin's room would offer more answers.</p><p>Arthur stepped up the stairs into his manservant's chambers, stuffing down the feeling of guilt at rifling through Merlin's things. <em>I'm not going to snoop, </em>he told himself. <em>Only look around. </em>And he was the prince; he had every right to be there. <em>It's </em>my <em>castle, after all. Well, my father's. </em></p><p>He refused to let the thought go farther than that. He didn't want to think of his father, and he stuffed the image of the king in bed, looking broken and sickly, out of his mind. His father would get better.</p><p>Merlin's room was an absolute <em>disaster. </em>It looked as though a storm had torn through it, clothes scattered everywhere but the cupboard, bedding on the ground. There was a small figurine on the table in the corner, and candles nearly burned to stubs littered the floor<em>. </em>Really. Arthur knew the man was capable of cleaning—why did he insist on being such a slob?</p><p>The little hypocrite always chastised Arthur when <em>his </em>chambers became a mess (which the prince had been more than irritated with at the beginning, because he was a <em>prince, </em>and Merlin had no right to scold him for anything).</p><p>Arthur toed around some of his servant's clothing, unwilling to pick it up. Not only was it likely crawling with fleas, but picking through Merlin's things felt dirty. He cursed when, moving closer to the bed, he almost knocked over an inkpot—though it was stopped, thankfully. A ragged blanket had hidden it (and didn't Arthur pay his servant well enough that he could at least afford proper bedding?). The prince carefully lifted the blanket to reveal a book in some kind of strange language, a quill, and another book, one with a blank cover.</p><p>"And what do we have here?" He picked up the book in the strange language and flipped through it. It held images of strange symbols, ones he didn't recognize. He set it down and examined the blank book. It was sort of reddish-brown, filled with coarse paper. When he opened it, he recognized Merlin's writing. Scholarly notes, perhaps?</p><p>He turned to a random page.</p><p>—<em>had the ears and voice of an ass! It was the funniest thing. I can't stop laughing. If the goblin hadn't insisted on possessing people and wreaking havoc, I might've thanked him for it. It was gold, to hear Arthur braying—</em></p><p>Oh. He'd found Merlin's journal. <em>That little rat, I knew he thought it was funny. </em>What a sentimental thing, keeping a <em>diary, </em>but it fit. Merlin was an emotional girl on the best of days. Arthur made to put it back down, but he paused.</p><p>Maybe this could tell him what was wrong with his manservant.</p><p>Arthur glanced at the door guiltily. Was he really so desperate for answers that he'd read Merlin's diary? But—yes, he was. He couldn't stand not knowing what was wrong with his servant. It wasn't curiosity, exactly. Almost a hurt, though that didn't make sense.</p><p>But also, it did. Because whenever the prince was upset, Merlin pried it out of him, and somehow—miraculously—made him feel better. His "pep talks," where he boosted Arthur up when he doubted himself, telling him that he had faith. Him letting Arthur blow off steam when his father angered him.</p><p>But when Merlin was upset? He didn't tell Arthur. And sure, Arthur maybe wasn't the <em>best </em>at comforting people, but did his servant really think so little of him?</p><p>This might be the only way to know.</p><p>So Arthur did something he wasn't exactly proud of. But he'd done a lot of things he wasn't proud of, for the sake of necessity. He sat on Merlin's bed, the frame groaning precariously, and searched for the latest entry. It would have to recent, right? He noticed the same symbols from the book near the back—perhaps Merlin did use this to take notes.</p><p>He finally came across what seemed to be the latest entries to Merlin's diary. He scanned them, looking for anything that seemed suspect—<em>there. </em></p><p><em>I don't know who I am. </em>So Merlin was having a bit of an identity crisis then? Was that what was getting him down?</p><p>
  <em>The bumbling servant or the powerful warlock? </em>
</p><p>Arthur's eyes froze. He seemed to be made of stone. He re-read the line. Re-read it again. <em>No. No. That's impossible. </em>His manservant—a warlock? It had to be some kind of… lie. Some kind of joke. But what reason would he have to lie in his own diary?</p><p>
  <em>A mixture of both? Neither? I may never know, may never have the opportunity to find out. Still, I know I must not let myself grow resentful. I have faith that Arthur will make a good king; he already makes a good regent. That will have to be enough, even if he never frees my kind. </em>
</p><p>My kind. Arthur. He'd been mentioned—mentioned in this, this <em>sorcerer's </em>sick journal. How could it sound so like Merlin, but at the same time so wrong? Merlin, his idiot servant, his <em>friend, </em>couldn't be a sorcerer. He couldn't; he'd helped Arthur <em>against </em>magic!</p><p>
  <em>I will continue to support him and support Camelot. It has become my home; I could not turn my back on it now. I will fight for it, whatever may come. The hope that I may one day do so in broad daylight, in front of everyone, fades bit by bit from my sight. Gaius and the dragon say to have hope—that the day still comes. Gaius, I know, is only placating me. He is more of a pessimist than I. And I can't trust whatever the dragon sees; he is too vague and cryptic. </em>
</p><p>Arthur barely registered the words, though his eyes roved over them. Magic. <em>Magic. </em>The thing that had corrupted Morgana and caused so much grief and pain to his people… He couldn't bear the thought of Merlin, the man he had trusted so very, very much, betraying him in such a way.</p><p>And yet, he had. Merlin <em>had </em>betrayed him. He'd taken up sorcery, Camelot's greatest enemy. It was evil. The servant had <em>known </em>that, had known how it twisted and hurt. He <em>had </em>to; he'd seen the same things Arthur had. So why had he decided to take it up? Why had he betrayed Camelot and Arthur, as Morgana had done?</p><p>
  <em>But Arthur is my friend, and I love him well. That doesn't include the knights or Gwen, or the others I know in the citadel. I will not abandon them, even if they may later abandon me for my magic.</em>
</p><p>The room spun around him, and the prince clung to the book like a lifeline, crinkling the pages. His servant's sloppy writing wrinkled. He could not recall the words he had just read; he could not even seem to recall why he'd come. There was no getting around this—this <em>magic.</em> It was like there was a blockage in his brain, an insurmountable barrier to his thoughts.</p><p>Merlin was a sorcerer.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Thanks for the response everyone! I appreciate the comments, kudos, and bookmarks (or even just that you took the time to read my story). What did you guys think? Did you like the reveal with Arthur? What about Merlin and Gaius's conversation?</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Chapter 3</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <strong>Chapter Three: The Beginning</strong>
</p><p>Merlin didn't bother to knock before coming in, shutting the door behind him. He set the tray down on the desk with a soft clank. The sun was just barely poking over the horizon; Arthur wouldn't be expecting him yet. And if his conversation with Lancelot took longer than he'd thought… Well, the knight was better company than the prince anyway.</p><p>The knight's quarters were sparse but larger than Merlin's. Lancelot had a wardrobe, a small side table, a desk, and a bed. The knight's armor was laid out carefully on the floor, having no other place to put it (what with the desk, bed, and table occupied).</p><p>"Lancelot," Merlin hissed, throwing open the bed's curtains. His friend was sleeping soundly, and—unlike Arthur—<em>he </em>didn't snore. "Lancelot!"</p><p>The man's eyes opened blearily. "Merlin?" he asked, still half-asleep. Then, he sat up. "Merlin? What are you doing here?" The knight rubbed his face, his bedding pooling at his waist.</p><p>"I was wondering if I might ask you a favor," Merlin began, leaning against the wall.</p><p>"Yes, of course," Lancelot said immediately. Then, he paused, his eyebrows drawing together. "Why exactly did you need to come into my chambers before the sun rose to ask me this favor?" Had the servant woken any other knight (except perhaps Gwaine, Percival, or Elyan), they would've demanded to know. But Lancelot took it in stride.</p><p>The warlock cleared his throat. "It's not a favor of the… legal variety." That was putting it mildly. But he knew Lancelot would be happy to agree.</p><p>"I see. Might I get dressed as you ask me this favor? It seems strange to conduct such serious business in my nightclothes." The knight pushed back the covers and swung his legs out of his bed, his bare feet brushing the cold stone.</p><p>Merlin shrugged. "I don't think your day-clothes will be offended by the slight, but it makes no difference to me." He walked over to get Lancelot's fire started. It wasn't particularly cold, but it wasn't particularly <em>warm </em>either. <em>"Forbearnan," </em>he whispered, the magic coming easily to his fingertips. The flames whooshed over the wood at once.</p><p>It had almost come <em>too </em>easily. The warlock normally kept his magic restricted, locked tightly inside himself where no one could see. But these past nights… He'd been using it constantly. And while this eased the tension he usually held within him, it also relaxed his magic's confinement. Still, he felt it was worth the work he'd managed to get done; the Sluagh couldn't be allowed inside Camelot.</p><p>"Is it more satisfying to do it that way?" Lancelot asked, and Merlin looked back to see him pulling on a clean shirt. He'd already put on a new pair of breeches.</p><p>"It's faster," Merlin said, which perhaps wasn't much of an answer. But he was practiced at evading questions he didn't want to answer. "I brought you breakfast." He gestured to the tray he'd set on the table. On it were eggs, sausages, and porridge.</p><p>Lancelot smiled. "Thank you, Merlin." It was bizarre to hear the words, after so long of serving Arthur. The knight sat down at the desk and gestured to the chair opposite of him. "Please, sit, and tell me this favor you wish to ask of me."</p><p>The servant sat gratefully; he'd been standing and wandering about the castle for much of the night (too much of the night, really), and he was tired. Bone-deep exhausted, as though Arthur had used him for target practice for about a month straight.</p><p>"You have heard the news, have you not?" Merlin asked, fiddling with his fingers. "About Morgana?"</p><p>"The witch stirs on our border," Lancelot replied, taking a bite of sausage. "She gathers sorcerers. Do you know something more?"</p><p>The servant nodded. "Much more." And he proceeded to tell the knight of the Sluagh, and how Morgana and the other sorcerers were summoning them, and they would come from <em>Flæsc </em>to their realm in three weeks' time. He explained that Arthur would be notifying Lancelot soon of his reconnaissance mission, and that he needed the knight to pretend he'd gotten word of the Sluagh from said mission.</p><p>"You've known about this all week—this army she's summoning?" Lancelot asked. Nearly half his plate was gone. "And you didn't tell me?" The note of accusation in his voice wasn't sharp but almost soft, as though the knight didn't want to startle him—like he were something to be startled, a horse or a deer.</p><p>"Er…" Merlin's tired brain couldn't think of an excuse. He <em>hadn't </em>told Lancelot, though he couldn't think of a specific reason for his actions. "Yes?"</p><p>Lancelot's mouth drew into a small frown. "Merlin, why? I could've helped sooner. You look like you've run yourself into the ground." Was <em>everyone </em>going to comment on how he looked? He was <em>fine.</em> He'd had worse. There was no reason for everyone to think him so delicate.</p><p>"It slipped my mind," he said. "I've been rather busy trying to figure out a way to stop the army from entering the citadel. It's difficult to learn how to do entire runic configurations in a <em>month." </em></p><p>"Exactly." Lancelot pointed with his fork. "And it didn't just 'slip your mind.' You didn't think of coming to me until you needed something specific from me."</p><p>Did the knight think Merlin was <em>using </em>him? Using Lancelot's higher status for his benefit, his gain? The servant was first offended, then horrified. <em>Was </em>that what he was doing? When they'd retaken Camelot, he'd only told Lancelot of the cup once he'd needed the knight's help getting to it. "No—I, I mean, you know I think of you as a friend. I'm not trying to—to—"</p><p>"That's not what I meant," the knight interrupted gently. "I wanted you to come tell me <em>sooner</em>. You need to know that you can rely on others for help when you need it. You can rely on <em>me; </em>I know you. I know of your magic—there's no reason to hide from me."</p><p>Oh. "There's nothing you could've done before now," Merlin said, not meeting the knight's eyes. He wrung his hands. "I wasn't trying to <em>hide </em>from you." That was absurd; what reason would he have to hide from the knight, the knight who called him brave and said he deserved more than what he'd been given?</p><p>"I know it may take some getting used to, me being in Camelot," Lancelot said. "But I've lived here for a month now, Merlin. You can come to me when you have problems. You <em>should </em>have come to me. Perhaps you wouldn't be so haggard-looking now. Have you even eaten breakfast?"</p><p>"Um…" Would Lancelot be irritated if he said no? "Really, breakfast is subjective. It's not that I haven't eaten breakfast; it's that it's not the right <em>time</em> for eating my breakfast yet, which usually comes in the afternoon."</p><p>Lancelot's mouth twitched. "So a no, then. Here." He pushed over his plate. Perhaps a fourth of the eggs were left, as were a couple of sausages. "Eat." Merlin ate a bite, and, his body seemingly realizing how hungry he was, he began devouring the rest of the food rapidly.</p><p>"Thanks," the servant said in between bites.</p><p>"Does Gaius ever feed you?" the knight asked. "Never mind—I know he does. So this spell of Morgana's. You said it was only half-complete. Is there no way to stop it before it's finished?"</p><p>Merlin shook his head as he polished off the eggs. Swallowing, he said, "No. All the spells I looked at that required two castings to open a portal between realms couldn't be interrupted without dire consequences. If I were to try and stop it, I might end up tearing the rift wider, allowing more Sluagh through. Or the portal to <em>Flæsc </em>could last for months. Or it could grow and grow, innocent people ending up trapped in a realm that would slowly twist them into monsters."</p><p>He shivered. Becoming a Sluagh was a horrible process, though there hadn't been enough reports on the subject for the book to describe it in detail. He wondered how the author had even managed to get as much information as they had, but he decided it was better he not know.</p><p>"And do you have any idea how many might come through?" the knight asked. Merlin took a bite of sausage. "Or what Morgana plans to control them with?"</p><p>"I need to get a better look at the Working for that," the servant answered. "Which I plan to do today." Arthur could do without him for a day; this was important.</p><p>Lancelot nodded, agreeing. "What about the prince? And your job?" he questioned.</p><p>Merlin grimaced. "This <em>is </em>my job." And what an unfortunate job it was indeed.</p><hr/><p>Arthur didn't know how long he sat there, clutching Merlin's—the <em>traitor's—</em>journal. Was everyone destined to let him down? His father, ill. Morgana, trying to take the throne for herself at the expense of the people. Everything had fallen apart, this last month; Arthur had turned a corner only to be reminded of his—his <em>sister, </em>laughing with her or talking with her.</p><p>The only thing that had stayed the same was his manservant. Merlin. He'd been indispensible, helping the prince with speeches and figures (and eating and sleeping, if he were honest). And now, knowing it was all a lie…</p><p>Merlin had magic. It seemed impossible—the boy Arthur had seen last night, the one he'd tried to joke with, the one who'd set out his clothes for the morning—that boy had magic? How much of it was a lie? What was Merlin scheming? How long had he even been practicing magic?</p><p>Arthur longed to confront Merlin, even as he feared what the boy might say (<em>I've never been yours, Arthur, only biding my time—). </em>But he couldn't trust anything about Merlin, now. Not what he'd said, not what he'd done. It might all be a lie, a façade to lull the prince into trusting him.</p><p>The prince forced down the hurt. Because if his friendship with Merlin was a lie… Where did it leave him? He'd thought the servant had looked past his status as royalty to <em>him, </em>to <em>Arthur. </em>But that had been a lie, too. He wanted to march up to Merlin and throw him in the dungeons. How <em>dare </em>he lie to Arthur? How dare he <em>use </em>the prince?</p><p>But then, he might never know the truth of the situation; if the sorcerer had lied about his magic, what else had he lied about? What else <em>would </em>he lie about? What plot had he hatched?</p><p>Arthur looked down at the book in his hands. He wouldn't tip the sorcerer off, not yet. <em>Maybe he's working with Morgana,</em> the prince thought darkly. If he tipped the traitor off now, he'd lose the one advantage he had over her. No, better to keep quiet until he understood the man's plan.</p><p>Arthur stood, tucking the journal into his jacket. He'd have to hide it somewhere, somewhere the sorcerer wouldn't think to look. It might be difficult, considering the man's … <em>position. </em>The prince felt ill, knowing just how much information—sensitive information—the sorcerer was privy to. <em>He's written my speeches, helped write decrees. </em></p><p>How much manipulation had Arthur been subjected to?</p><p>He didn't know, but as he left with the book's hard edges pressing into his ribs, he knew he'd find out.</p><hr/><p>Merlin had taken his herb satchel with him; there was no reason he couldn't gather plants as he came closer to the Working to investigate it. He meandered through the woods, stopping to pick some comfrey and feverfew. It was sunny overhead, and Merlin expected the last dregs of summer to begin to evaporate into the chill of autumn.</p><p>He walked past trees softly, as to not startle any animals. The twitter of birds relaxed him, even as the Working grated on him. The feeling of unease it generated became more pronounced as he came closer. It had faded after the initial casting, the way a bruise might fade with time, but now it reignited his senses. And, he realized uneasily, it felt larger, bigger, broader than it had when he'd first come stumbling into the woods to ask Kilgharrah for help. He hadn't been paying attention at the time—he'd been a little preoccupied—but the Working tasted <em>foul. </em>It was rotting, tainted, like meat left in the heat for too long. It tasted like <em>Flæsc </em>had.</p><p>Merlin tried to ignore the sensation, even as he followed it. He found some valerian root off to the side and kneeled down to pick it.</p><p>He wasn't sure how exactly he was going to discover more about the Working; he thought, as he drew closer, that he might be able to discern it. But even as he found himself nearer to the terrible thing, he couldn't tell anything more about it. Raising a hand to his temple, his eyes flashed gold as he probed the Working, trying to ascertain its specifics.</p><p>He couldn't figure it out—it slipped through his senses like oil, slick and pungent. Something—or <em>somethings—</em>whispered just outside his senses, and he could see that same writhing ball of flesh, the glimmer of sharp talons and wet, glistening flesh in the dim light of a crimson moon—</p><p>Panic mounted as the sensations grew stronger, surrounding him. He'd gone too deep into the Working, into this foul, disgusting spell. It was suffocating; he was back in that other place, pale trees all around—</p><p>He shook it off, shuddering as he forcibly pulled his magic from the Working. It lashed out as he called it back to where it belonged, as though itching to fight the horrible magic. But it settled soon enough, coiling back into his chest next to his heart. The Working only felt like <em>Flæsc, </em>he reassured himself. He wasn't being drawn back into the place, not with the tear between the worlds closed and him being awake.</p><p>Still, the memory of the man being ripped apart, the chase through the woods…</p><p>Merlin pushed it from his mind.</p><p>"What a waste of time," the warlock muttered, running a hand through his hair. "Arthur's going to yell at me for not showing up this morning, and it won't be worth it because I have absolutely <em>nothing </em>to show for it." What a great day this was turning out to be. At least he could count on Lancelot to warn the prince about the Sluagh.</p><p>As Merlin began to make his way back, he heard a young voice cry out in his mind.</p><p><em>Help! Someone help me!</em> It reminded him, briefly, of Mordred. But although the voice belonged to a young boy, it wasn't the same. And it sounded panicked, almost hysterical. The warlock reached out with his magic, trying to figure out which direction the voice was. <em>There. </em></p><p>Merlin began to run toward the voice, his satchel flapping against his side. He sprinted through the woods (praying to the gods he wouldn't trip on a root and end up flat on his face). The child kept calling, and the warlock's mind churned almost as fast as his legs.</p><p>Was it a druid? What was the danger—some kind of animal? A person? What was a young druid (if he was a druid) doing all by himself out in the woods? Merlin slowed as he found himself in the ruins of a few huts. It looked like it had been some kind of small settlement—perhaps for hunters or nomads.</p><p>Merlin reached out again with his magic. The boy was close. <em>I'm here, </em>he called. <em>Where are you? </em></p><p><em>The well! I fell in the well. </em>Panting, Merlin made his way past the crumbling buildings to a small overgrown clearing, trying to find the source of the voice. How the hell had some young mage managed to find himself trapped in a bloody well, of all things? Where were the people looking after him?</p><p>At the far end of the clearing, the warlock saw a structure made of stone. It looked like it could've been a well at some point, though moss and grass had nearly destroyed it. The warlock peered down, and at the (very dry) bottom, he saw a young boy looking back up at him, face streaked with tears. He was certainly dressed like a druid, though Merlin couldn't see a triskelion from where he was.</p><p>"Hello," he said, trying to make his voice both loud and gentle. "I'm Merlin. Let's get you out of there, huh?" He tried to recall how Gaius had handled his younger patients. It wasn't that the warlock was bad with kids, but usually he dealt with happy, lively children of the lower town—not scared druid boys trapped in wells.</p><p><em>Emrys? Is that really you? </em>the boy asked, wonder in his tone (his mind-tone?). <em>You'll get me out? </em></p><p><em>You can call me Merlin. And of course I will. Are you hurt? </em>He smiled, trying to project confidence. He really didn't need the child to freak out any more than he already had.</p><p>He heard the boy sob loudly, and he winced. <em>My leg, </em>the boy said. <em>I think it's broken, but I don't want to look. It makes me ill. </em>Merlin could relate to that. He'd once broken his arm, and the sight of his joint bending in the wrong direction had made him violently sick.</p><p><em>That's okay, </em>Merlin said. <em>I'll take care of it once I get you out. What's your name? </em>He kneeled beside the well's low wall, careful not to put weight on the stone. He would bet that was how the druid boy had fallen in; the entire well looked fit to collapse at any second.</p><p>
  <em>Rowan. </em>
</p><p>"Well, Rowan, you'll be out of there very soon. I'm going to need you to do something for me, though—you need to stay very still while I lift you out. Can you do that for me?" Merlin asked, his voice echoing down the well.</p><p>The boy nodded. <em>Yes. </em></p><p>Balancing carefully, Merlin extended out one hand. He'd never done this on a person before (there really hadn't been cause to), but he'd practiced on objects at least as heavy as Rowan. <em>In theory, I shouldn't have any trouble lifting him out. </em></p><p>"<em>Hebban," </em>he said, his eyes flashing gold. Rowan, true to his word, didn't shift as he was moved by Merlin's magic. The boy floated upward gently, the warlock directing him as needed.</p><p>Once Rowan was over the lip of the stone, Merlin grabbed him and held him. He could see the boy better in the sunlight: he had bronze skin and dark hair, both dirty from his traumatizing adventure, and looked to be of far Eastern descent. The boy clung to Merlin's jacket and cried. He was perhaps seven or eight summers old.</p><p>"Shh," Merlin said, cradling him awkwardly. He was heavier than Merlin had expected, and he was crushing the herbs in the warlock's satchel (which he wouldn't have minded, except he wanted to use the herbs to treat the poor fellow). "It's alright. You're all right. I'm going to set you down now, okay?"</p><p>Rowan only sniffled, but Merlin took that for agreement and lowered him into the grass, careful of his leg. The fibula looked to be broken, the bone jutting out awkwardly. It hadn't poked through the skin, however, though it looked horribly unnatural.</p><p>"You can fix it, can't you Emrys?" the boy asked, his voice high with anxiety.</p><p>"Yes, of course I can. I'm a physician's apprentice," Merlin replied, kneeling beside him. He would have to set the bone and splint it, which would be painful. And he didn't know any healing spells for this particular injury. "What were you doing out here all by yourself, anyway?" Now that he was closer, he could see the boy's triskelion on his inner wrist.</p><p>"I just wanted to explore," Rowan said. "I didn't mean to fall down the well." His voice rose almost hysterically—did he think Merlin was about to blame him?</p><p>"I know," Merlin soothed. "Wasn't anyone watching you?" He pulled the satchel off over his head and examined the contents. Feverfew would be good to reduce infection initially, and he could perhaps knock the boy out to set and splint the leg. Then, it would only be a matter of taking him to his camp.</p><p>The boy stuck his lower lip out. "Sigrid was. But she was too busy mooning over Idonia to <em>play </em>with me. She didn't even notice when I left."</p><p>More to keep Rowan distracted from the pain he must've been in than anything else, Merlin prodded, "Idonia?" He would need to put the boy into a deep sleep to avoid the pain.</p><p>Rowan pouted. "My elder sister. Sigrid used to be fun to play with."</p><p>"Ah, I see," Merlin said. He would need to grind up the feverfew and add water to make a paste. With a flash of his eye, he had summoned a branch from above to use to carve out a bowl.</p><p>The boy gasped. "You did that without a spell!"</p><p>"Um, yes," Merlin said. He didn't know any specific spells to carve out a bowl from wood, so he directed his magic to clumsily scrape away wood from the branch until he got something roughly bowl-shaped. "How many spells do you know?"</p><p>Rowan giggled. "None, silly. I don't get to learn anything but talking without words until I'm ten." He held up his hands, fingers splayed wide. "That's how many ten is."</p><p>Merlin smiled at him before he placed a few of the feverfew leaves into the bowl and added water from his water skin. It trickled in slowly, and once he felt it had been enough, he ground it into a paste using magic. It took more concentration than he was used to; it would've been easier to flatten the entire bowl. Rowan watched earnestly, brown eyes wide.</p><p>"Could you drink this for me?" Merlin asked, holding the bowl out to the boy. "It might not taste good, but it's medicine."</p><p>Rowan nodded importantly. "Feverfew, for infection and in-flam-mation," he recited carefully (to Merlin's surprise). Druids must teach their younger children herb-lore. Grimacing, the boy drank the lot in one go.</p><p>"Very good," the warlock said, taking the bowl back. "I'm going to set your leg now, alright? But I'm going to spell you first so you won't feel it. And then we'll go back to your camp."</p><p>Rowan nodded, though there was fear in his eyes. "I don't remember where the camp is," he said miserably. "And I was too far away for them to hear me calling for help."</p><p>Merlin patted his shoulder. "We'll find them," he assured, and the boy looked slightly less doubtful. And then, only feeling slightly bad for it, he set his hand on the boy's forehead. <em>"Mãmor." </em>It was a word for deep sleep, and Merlin laid the boy down softly.</p><p>He set and splinted the leg as best he could (which was rather well; he had been Gaius's apprentice for years now). Then, he picked Rowan up, shifting him so he wasn't crushing the bag. His head lolled on Merlin's shoulder, his hair tousled.</p><p><em>Now, the camp. </em>He supposed he could simply wander through the woods calling out with his mind, but that seemed like a method that might take all day and night. Instead, using his magic, he sent his vision forward through the forest, hoping to see some sign of the druids.</p><p>It took about a dozen tries, but eventually Merlin found what looked to be a path, marked subtly with runes that translated roughly to "safety." He walked in that direction, hitching Rowan up higher on his hip, wary of his leg. The boy didn't so much as stir.</p><p>The warlock was extra careful to look where he was going; the last thing he needed was to fall and hurt the boy further. He stepped over tree roots and rocks, narrowly missing a log at one point. His arms grew tired, and sweat pooled underneath his clothes.</p><p>He trekked for perhaps an hour (and really, just how far had Rowan <em>gone?) </em>before he started calling out with his mind, hoping to catch the attention of sentries he knew had to be posted on the outskirts of the camp.</p><p><em>Hello? Anyone there? </em>It took perhaps ten more minutes of walking, and at this point Merlin was afraid his arms might fall off, before someone answered.</p><p><em>Who's there? </em>A voice called, feminine-sounding. Merlin was so relieved he stopped, mid-stride.</p><p>
  <em>Er, Merlin. I've brought a boy with me—he calls himself Rowan. </em>
</p><p><em>Rowan! </em>The voice was astounded. <em>Wait where you are; we will come to you.</em></p><p>Grateful he didn't have to walk anymore, Merlin set Rowan down on the ground and stretched out beside him, straightening his legs. He pillowed his jacket behind the boy's head and waited for the druids to arrive.</p><p>They did so momentarily—two women and a man. One of the women was older—she had seen at least sixty summers, Merlin would've guessed. She had dark skin and stark white hair. The warlock scrambled to his feet to greet the group, and the two younger ones stopped short, the older woman taking long strides to kneel at Rowan's side.</p><p><em>Emrys! </em>The younger woman exclaimed, and she and the man looked shocked to see him there.</p><p>Merlin blushed to see the awe in their faces. <em>I found him in a run-down well a league or so away, </em>he directed at the older woman. Despite her age, she was swift in examining the boy, feeling his head for fever and casting a few unfamiliar spells over his body.</p><p><em>You put him to sleep? </em>she asked, prodding his torso for injuries.</p><p><em>To set his leg. I had no sedatives with me, and I knew no spells. It would've been painful had he been awake, </em>Merlin explained, and the older woman nodded.</p><p><em>You did well, Emrys. Thank you for caring for him, </em>she said, standing. She turned to face him and gave him the traditional druid greeting, touching her forehead and tipping her hand to him. "I am Wymarc, the leader of this clan. It is a pleasure to meet you." Her voice was smoother than he would've expected, given her age, like a gentle brook.</p><p>The warlock clumsily reproduced the greeting. "Likewise. I'm happy to have helped." He tried to think of a polite way to excuse himself (it seemed this venture hadn't been a complete waste, but he still didn't know about the Working) when the younger two came forward. They each greeted him.</p><p><em>I am Aldusa, </em>the woman said. She had pale skin and long hair the color of straw.</p><p><em>And I am Florian, </em>the man said. He had a round face, and his skin was a shade lighter than Wymarc's.</p><p>"You can call me Merlin, if—er—you like," Merlin offered, greeting them back. It felt odd to do so—greeting somebody like this in Camelot was likely to get your head chopped off. Or at least it had under Uther; the warlock could only hope Arthur turned out to be different.</p><p>Florian stepped forward to pick up Rowan, carrying him easily. Again, Merlin found himself wondering how he might politely excuse himself. It was getting to be afternoon, and he really needed to go.</p><p>As the party of druids made to leave, Wymarc looked back at him. <em>Follow, if you please. You have done us a service, and you appear worn by your journey. Rest with us a while. </em></p><p>And, well, how was Merlin—with his arms and feet aching, his hair plastered to his forehead with sweat—meant to turn down an offer like that? So he picked his jacket up off the ground and trailed after them, wondering if Arthur would be angry enough to throw him in the stocks when he got back.</p><hr/><p>Arthur hid the book where he knew the sorcerer would never find it: the locked jewelry drawer in his dresser, the place he kept his rings and necklaces (which the servant had never organized). He shut it, the drawer making a satisfying <em>clang</em>. Then, Arthur went to find the knights.</p><p>He found Sir Leon first and told him of the mission, informing him that he would take over the knights' training for that afternoon. The knight nodded, bowed, and left, leaving Arthur there alone. He felt as if he were in a daze as he went to find a different servant to help him into his armor.</p><p>The knights' training went as well as ever, though Arthur was slow to respond when Gwaine made some inane comment. He did everything automatically, as though he were some kind of machine. He let his mind go blank—for if he thought, he knew where those thoughts would lead.</p><p>Merlin. The sorcerer. The <em>traitor. </em>He had betrayed Arthur, his prince, for who knew how long. Arthur didn't know why or how or—or <em>anything. </em>He only knew Merlin <em>had. </em>And he shoved even these small thoughts from his mind, for fear he might break down. Simply sit on the ground and never rise.</p><p>The servant—the <em>sorcerer—</em>had been his rock, his salvation, this past month. He had relied on him for help with running the kingdom, scheduling, everything. And the man was a traitor; he was a traitor as Morgana was a traitor. Only this wound was fresh.</p><p>The prince sparred with his knights in a fury, putting them through their paces. One of the knights commented that he was glad Arthur wanted them in fighting shape for Morgana, and the prince was happy to let them think that was why.</p><p>Sweat dripped down Arthur's face as he parried and feinted and slashed and hacked, directing the knights through footwork and sparring drills. He worked himself to the bone in an effort to escape this new knowledge.</p><p>And before he knew it, training was over, and the prince was removing his helm from his damp head. He drank deeply from a water skin, the sun warm and bright overhead.</p><p>Gwaine joined him. "Alright there, Arthur?" he asked, face uncharacteristically serious. The knight only reminded Arthur of the traitor; Gwaine was good friends with Merlin. Or <em>had </em>been, anyway. How would the knight take Merlin being a traitor? How many would Merlin hurt with what he had done?</p><p>"I'm fine," Arthur said. "You need to work on defending your left side—you're not as good at it as your right." He didn't want to lie to Gwaine, but he didn't want to burden the knight with the truth, either.</p><p>"I'll keep that in mind, princess. Just remember running us harder won't get you any closer to defeating Morgana," Gwaine said, but he clapped Arthur's shoulder. The knight frowned and looked around. "Have you seen Merlin? I wanted to talk with him about something."</p><p>"Haven't seen him all day," the prince replied. The words, however, weren't his—his mouth moved on its own. "Probably in the tavern—or helping Gaius." He gripped the water skin so tightly water gushed from the top and ran down his hand.</p><p>Arthur drank from it again to cover the spill and walked away, leaving Gwaine—still frowning—looking after him.</p><p>On his way to his rooms, the prince ordered one of the servants—George, Arthur thought his name may have been—to draw him a bath and help him out of his armor. He had no meetings to attend to this evening, though he needed to have a look at some reports and prepare for the speech he was meant to give at the merchant guild in a few days.</p><p>Normally, he might've given the duty to—but it was no matter. He could do it himself.</p><p>When he reached his chambers, the servant was waiting for him.</p><p>"I have taken the liberty of stoking your fire and laying out your clothes, sire," he said primly. He had short brown hair and was dressed similarly to Mer—<em>no. Don't think about him like that. </em></p><p>Arthur grunted. "Get me out of this armor," he said, and George surged forward to help him shed his vambraces, couters, pauldrons, gorget, and chainmail. He was quick and efficient, with none of the unnecessary touches his—<em>other servant </em>liked to give.</p><p><em>Will I be able to stand having him attend me tomorrow? </em>Perhaps that would be the time to spring his trap: guards would wait outside his chambers, and upon Arthur's signal, they would come in and arrest the unsuspecting traitor.</p><p>But the prince didn't want to simply lock him up and demand answers—he needed to know the sorcerer's plan (and, he admitted to himself, the <em>why </em>and <em>how long). </em>So he would wait until after he had sifted through the traitor's journal to decide what to do.</p><p><em>I could execute him here, quietly in my chambers, without any fanfare. </em>It would be more than the sorcerer deserved, but Arthur didn't know if he could stand to watch the traitor burn on a pyre.</p><p>"—lord? Sire? Is there anything you require before I draw your bath?" George asked. Arthur looked down and realized George had finished helping him out of his armor, and he was clad in his under-clothes.</p><p>He shook his head. "But after you are finished with the bath, I will need food."</p><p>George bowed. "Of course, sire." The address—in addition to the overt subservience—was nauseating, and made Arthur want to yell at something (namely, George). But it was also so different from—from…</p><p>The servant exited the room, and Arthur fell into his chair. Alone, he put his head into his hands. Merlin. <em>Merlin, </em>of all people. He had known the man for years, though it felt sometimes like lifetimes.</p><p><em>And he has betrayed me. </em>Was he in league with Morgana, planning on crowning himself her king?</p><p>He steeled himself. There was only one way to find out—and it would be just him. Well, him and George, but he doubted the man could read. And even if he could, he seemed the type to leave the prince regent's business alone.</p><p>Arthur took a deep breath and stood from the chair, his muscles stiff from training. He padded over to the drawer and inserted the key from around his neck, withdrawing the journal.</p><p><em>What if Merlin comes back while I'm reading this? </em>Arthur thought as he sat back down. He didn't want to tip off the sorcerer early, especially if he was as powerful as Morgana—it might lead to the deaths of innocent guards or knights, and that was the last thing Arthur wanted.</p><p>But his need to know outweighed the risk. And Arthur was the best fighter in the land; was it not better for him to confront the sorcerer as opposed to anyone else? He opened to the front page, realizing that the cover was more worn than he had realized.</p><p>
  <em>If Gaius were to find this, he would surely scold me. I don't think I can stand another hour-long lecture about being careful, so I'll have to make sure not to leave it lying about. Not that the lecture is more of a motivator than the pyre. </em>
</p><p>Arthur frowned in confusion. Scold him? Surely he would be more concerned about Gaius turning him in? Unless—no. Not Gaius as well, Gaius who had taught and cared for the prince since he was a babe. Gaius knew about the magic? For how long? The old physician had been a sorcerer, hadn't he? But he'd also been a staunch ally of his father's.</p><p>He started as George came in, hauling bath water, but the servant only acknowledged him with a strained bow, clearly understanding that quiet was necessary for reading</p><p>
  <em>I suppose it doesn't matter, in the end. I'm keeping it with my magic things; if this is found, I am already caught. And it is all the better, really. I write this not for myself, but so that the person reading it might know the truth, if Uther doesn't simply burn it along with me. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>I'm not sure where to start, exactly. It's been perhaps a fortnight since I came to Camelot—is Camelot a good place to begin? My mother sent me here to live with Gaius and learn to control my magic. Maybe the magic is a good place to begin.</em>
</p><p>Arthur's head was spinning. Merlin had had magic all along, the entire time he'd lived in Camelot? But he'd—he'd warned the prince about the <em>evils </em>of magic. From the sound of it, Merlin had had magic even <em>before </em>coming to Camelot. Had his mother taught him?</p><p>
  <em>My magic isn't like most others'. Firstly, I was born with it. Mother says I've been lifting things with nothing but my will since I was a few months old. The only spells I've learned are the few I've managed to pick up in the two weeks since I got my book of spells (which Gaius gifted to me).</em>
</p><p>
  <em>I feel like I'm not explaining this very well. </em>
</p><p>Born with it? Arthur's first inclination was to call that impossible, but… What reason would the sorcerer have to lie in his own diary, where he'd already confessed to the crime of practicing magic? But if it <em>was </em>possible… Bile rose in Arthur's throat, unbidden. Magic as a choice had always made sense to him; a person chose to break the law, and they were punished for it.</p><p>Babes using magic, clearly untaught, was a different matter entirely.</p><p>
  <em>According to Gaius, a small number of people, if they study hard enough, can access some amount of magic, though this takes time and is difficult work. These are called sorcerers. A different number of people have small, innate powers—they can create fire, or turn into an animal, and that's all they can do—these are wizards. Others have greater powers, more easily accessed, manifesting as accidental magic before these magic-users are trained. Their spells are numerous, though they often have specialties. Apparently, it is uncommon to be skilled in multiple areas of magic. These people are known as warlocks (or witches). </em>
</p><p>
  <em>I fall into this last category, Gaius says, though he also says how strange I am even among my own kind.</em>
</p><p>The paragraph was unwieldy (trust Merlin to ramble as badly as he did in person in writing), but it was… far more scholarly than Arthur had expected. There were different <em>kinds </em>of sorcerers? Categories, like the different rankings in the guilds?</p><p>Arthur had always imagined magic as chaotic, entirely against nature, and corrupting. This made it sound normal—almost <em>orderly, </em>like a science. The prince's mind rebelled at the notion; how could this be right? Everything he'd been taught couldn't have been <em>wrong. </em>His father's campaign against magic had been… If perhaps overzealous (Arthur had never approved of the raids on the lower town or against the druid camps), mostly justified.</p><p>He had <em>seen </em>the damage magic had done to his kingdom, seen it with his own two eyes. But the same logic came to bite him: if he believed that this was true—that Merlin <em>was </em>a sorcerer—why would he lie at any other point?</p><p>Or perhaps he simply believed this to be the truth. Perhaps Gaius had brainwashed him, the magic had corrupted him. <em>But he claims to have had it as an infant, </em>Arthur argued silently. None of it made sense, and he was sick from the force of the clashing ideas within him.</p><p>
  <em>I have attempted to stop before, knowing how poorly Cenred treats his sorcerers. I lasted but a week. The power built, and with no outlet, I began using magic in my sleep. Near the end, it itched beneath my skin, and I had frequent nosebleeds.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>What I'm trying to get you to understand, whoever you are, is that stopping is—or was, if you read this—not an option for me. </em>
</p><p>It almost sounded like some kind of drug. If Arthur forced Merlin to stop using magic, would it eventually dissipate, the body regaining equilibrium? Had it already corrupted him entirely? Except… That didn't make sense. How could something that showed up naturally in babes be corrupting?</p><p>And still, Merlin had lied to him. Lied to him about this, betrayed him.</p><p>
  <em>I guess I should get back to Camelot. When I first arrived, there was an execution—the execution of a sorcerer. It was the first execution I've ever seen, and it was terrible. I don't think the man had done anything except practice magic (if that).</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Anyway, when I got to the physician chambers (Gaius is the physician), I accidentally startled him. He was standing on the balcony, and the railing broke. He fell, but I saved him using magic. I was terrified he would turn me in. Instead, he ended up giving me a magic book of spells—true, proper spells!</em>
</p><p>Gaius had nearly fallen from the balcony? Any sort of fall for a man that age was bound to be devastating. And Merlin had—what? Saved him on a whim? Why had he helped Gaius when he'd known it would've gotten him executed—after just witnessing an execution, in fact? He must've done it for some kind of favor; sorcerers were never selfless, in Arthur's experience.</p><p>
  <em>Then, there was this singer visiting the court—the Lady Helen. Except she was the mother of the man who'd been executed in disguise, and she tried to put the entire court to sleep and kill the king's son—Arthur—in revenge. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>Long story short, I used magic to save the prince's life and was "rewarded" with a position as his manservant. Which is a load of shite. It's no reward at all! The prince is the biggest prat I've ever known—violent, arrogant, and completely ungrateful. When we first met…</em>
</p><p>It told the familiar story of Arthur and Merlin's altercation and devolved into increasingly outrageous insults. The prince rubbed his eyes.</p><p>In the background, George had finished hauling the bathwater, and he approached promptly. Arthur looked up from his muddled thoughts.</p><p>"Do you require my help in the bath, sire?" the servant asked.</p><p>"No," Arthur said, distracted. His mind whirred with all of this new information. "Just fetch me food."</p><p>"Right away, my lord." George bowed and exited promptly, efficient and quick. Again, Arthur could only think of the contrast between him and the sorcerer <em>(except he called himself a warlock, didn't he? Because his powers are innate, like a voice or a hand). </em></p><p>Arthur stood and disrobed, leaving his dirty things on the floor. He left the diary on the table; he wanted to think on what he had read. Lifting his leg, he eased himself into the bath. It wasn't as warm as he liked it, but it would do.</p><p>What did it all mean? Why had Merlin saved his life—the life of someone he clearly didn't care for, someone who would've executed him for using magic? Was it true, what he had written?</p><p>He had to have done it for some kind of favor, for getting close to him. Except he hadn't seemed pleased with situation. Nor had he revealed any nefarious schemes. He'd saved Gaius's life. He'd saved Arthur's life.</p><p>If he'd wanted Arthur dead, he could've done nothing. But he hadn't.</p><p>The prince scrubbed his body and hair the best he could. His servant usually helped him, but he didn't feel like sharing this intimacy with <em>George. </em>He got out quicker than normal; he wanted to get back to reading the journal. What else had Merlin done with his magic?</p><p><em>Perhaps I should make a list of some kind. </em>Except if Merlin found that list…</p><p>Arthur finished toweling off and wrapped a robe around himself as George returned with a plate full of food. It was far too much for an evening meal, and it looked as though he'd brought wine as well.</p><p>"My lord," he said, placing the tray on the table. "Will you be needing anything else this evening, sire? Could I help you into your bedclothes or polish your armor?"</p><p>"No. You're dismissed," the prince said. George bowed and left without argument, not that Arthur had been anticipating one from him. The man probably would've licked his boots without complaint if Arthur had asked him to.</p><p>The prince sat to eat. Really, where <em>was </em>Merlin? Arthur had assumed the tavern originally, but now… He had no idea where the sorcerer was. Meeting up with Morgana? Practicing evil spells?</p><p>He opened the journal after pouring himself some wine.</p><p>
  <em>So I sort of forgot to mention in my last entry that I kind of met the dragon imprisoned beneath Camelot. His name is Kilgharrah, and when I first came, he kept calling to me in my mind. I thought I was mad, hearing voices. But it was just him, keeping me from sleeping.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Anyway, he told me some rubbish about Arthur being destined for greatness, and how I was meant to help him. But the little brat can't even dress himself, much less…</em>
</p><p>Here, it again developed into a rant worthy of treason. It sounded so much like Merlin… It ached. The insults, at least, had never been a lie. Had the playfulness been, the friendship? Had Merlin laughed at him, knowing he'd fooled him into thinking they were companions?</p><p>And the dragon. It sounded like the same one that had attacked Camelot. It also sounded as though Merlin had spoken to it—and it had spoken back. Was it possible?</p><p>Arthur pressed his lips together and flipped to the next entry.</p><p>
  <em>I saved Arthur again, the ungrateful prat. The culprit this time was a man called Valiant. He was a knight who entered the tourney, but he was using a magic shield to cheat. And I knew, but I couldn't accuse him in front of the king because I'm a servant, and he's a noble. Such bloody rubbish! He ended up killing a knight, and I had to summon the snakes from the shield in front of all of Camelot to get Uther to believe me. At least Arthur agreed to be careful. </em>
</p><p>Merlin had summoned the snakes? At the time, Arthur had simply assumed Valiant had called them accidentally, that his magic had gotten out of control. But it sounded as though it had been deliberate on Merlin's part to make sure Valiant didn't end up killing him.</p><p>
  <em>Speaking of Arthur, he's working me to the bone. I still barely know which armor piece is which, and he expects me to have them all memorized even though I've only been here a few weeks. He's so demanding; I have no idea how I'm meant to do all this by myself. I've been using magic to help me along, but I'm still constantly exhausted. I've barely had time to study with Gaius or my magic book.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Gwen told me I've already lasted longer than most of Arthur's servants, and it's no bloody wonder. The man's a spoiled little…</em>
</p><p>Arthur blinked. How many insults against himself was he going to have to read? Thinking back, however, he realized he <em>had</em> been hard on Merlin—especially since he knew now the man hadn't had any training as a servant. They had needed time to adjust to one another.</p><p><em>Except he's betrayed me—has always been betraying me.</em> Arthur wished he'd been harder on the man, that his father had never appointed him. The man had done nothing but lied to him, lied to him and betrayed him. <em>But… </em>In the first two entries, he had saved Arthur twice and Gaius once. How was it possible?</p><p>He ate some of his meal and took another drink of wine, thinking. <em>It doesn't make sense. He </em>has <em>to have some kind of agenda. </em>Perhaps the magic simply hadn't corrupted him yet. Only, he'd had it as a babe. Unless that had been some kind of strange lie. None of it made sense.</p><p>Arthur rubbed his temple, where a headache was beginning to form, and kept reading.</p><p>
  <em>There was an afnac poisoning Camelot's water supply. I helped Arthur kill it—the man's a complete idiot. I have no idea what he thought the massive gust of wind was, but I'm happy he doesn't seem to care. The afnac made a lot of people in Camelot sick—including Gwen's father (did I tell you about Gwen? She's a nice serving girl I met my first day here). Anyway, I healed her father using magic and nearly got her killed in the process. Gaius was right; I can't use my magic for things like this… I'll just end up getting innocent people hurt or worse.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Luckily, Arthur's too blinded by his own ego to see what's right in front of him. The bloody man wouldn't realize I was a sorcerer if I put a pointy hat on and paraded about in front of him casting spells. </em>
</p><p>It ended there; the entry was rather short, for something that contained so much information. Arthur had forgotten that Merlin had confessed to the crime of sorcery so early in his stay at Camelot.</p><p>The prince frowned at the book. How hadn't he noticed the gust of wind? He barely remembered it—he must've chalked it up to simple luck. And healing Gwen's father… Would Merlin have been able to heal all of the people who'd been sick, if he'd been given the chance?</p><p>Arthur didn't know. He just—didn't know. With shaking hands, he closed the journal and pushed it away from himself. Despite the lead in his stomach, he finished his meal and pulled on his sleeping trousers.</p><p>The prince locked the diary back in his jewelry drawer and sat down at his desk to do his work. He would do his best to turn his attention to matters of state—he couldn't handle any more revelations.</p><p><em>Your service to me will not go unpaid, Merlin, </em>he thought, pulling out his reports. <em>I won't punish you for your crimes until I know all that you've done. </em>Whether that meant he would eventually have to execute him for being a traitor, lock him up, or banish him…</p><p>That was up to what Merlin had written.</p><hr/><p>The druid camp was beautiful. Children ran and played around the tents, conjuring small magicks to impress one another; the adults cleaned or tended to crops; and Merlin's senses tingled with the hum of quiet chatter in his mind.</p><p>He sat cross-legged on the ground with a steaming mug of special drink—he forgot the name. It was sweet and fruity. Wymarc, Florian, Aldusa, and a few other druids sat around a fire with him.</p><p>Many of the druids stared at him and made subtle gestures of respect and awe. Merlin ignored them, uncomfortably aware of the heat rising in his face. He hoped the redness would be attributed to the fire.</p><p><em>Rowan will make a full recovery, thanks to you, </em>Wymarc said. She was obviously well-liked by her clan; they treated her with love, adoration, and no small amount of respect. They had given her a soft rug to sit on and food without prompting.</p><p><em>I'm certain you would've found him eventually, </em>Merlin replied, looking away.</p><p><em>Perhaps, </em>Wymarc said noncommittally. <em>We sent out a search party, but Rowan's mental cries were too weak for them to pick up. It is remarkable you heard him at all. </em></p><p>Merlin didn't think it was anything to be lauded for, and he was too embarrassed to even thank her for the compliment properly. <em>I did as I hope anyone would've in the same situation. </em></p><p>Aldusa and Florian spoke to each other quietly, mind-to-mind, though they glanced at him every so often. Wymarc remained silent, eating her food (they'd also given Merlin some, which he had taken gratefully. Though they ate no meat, the druids had a few goats and sheep for milk, cheese, and wool.</p><p>"Wymarc! Wymarc!" A little girl—perhaps five or six summers—approached the elderly woman, robe flying. She stopped and gave her clan's leader a more respectful greeting before asking, "Can I have a butterfly? Please?"</p><p>"Of course, child," Wymarc said, smiling gently. "A blue one?"</p><p>The girl's eyes went round, and she nodded. "Yes, please."</p><p>Wymarc cupped her hands and brought them to her mouth. She whispered a few words into them and her eyes flashed gold. When she opened her hands, a blue, shimmery butterfly stood there, wings fluttering gently. It flew onto the girl's outstretched finger and she carefully backed away, thanking Wymarc profusely.</p><p>Merlin watched the scene with a horrible pain in his heart. How innocent the interaction had been; the girl held no fear of magic, and Wymarc had no fear of being burned for doing something sweet and beautiful. He longed for it, fiercely but with a sinking hope: he feared it would never be.</p><p>Wymarc turned to look at him again. <em>You are not as I expected, Emrys. </em>Her brown eyes were deep and unfathomable, but they were also kind.</p><p><em>What do you mean? </em>he asked, finishing his drink. Its sweet taste lingered on his tongue, making him drowsy.</p><p><em>Iseldir told me of how you took the cup and allowed it to fall into the hands of Morgana. I imagined you as an arrogant man with little concept of the consequences for his actions, </em>Wymarc told him bluntly. Merlin stared at his hands. He regretted not being able to convince Arthur to leave the cup be, but the prince never listened to him when it came to things like this.</p><p><em>I made a mistake regarding the cup, </em>Merlin admitted. He wouldn't address the "arrogant" comment; Wymarc had implied she did not think that of him now. <em>And it cost us. I am not proud of the choices I made. </em></p><p><em>I suppose you did return the cup, in the end, </em>Wymarc said. And it was so: after defeating the immortal army, the warlock had sequestered the cup away. He'd later returned it to Iseldir, asking him for forgiveness. In the chaos of the aftermath, no one had double-checked that the cup had made it to the vaults. <em>And perhaps Morgana would've slaughtered Iseldir to obtain the cup; I cannot say. </em></p><p>Maybe, but Merlin doubted it. The druids had been careful. Except, if Arthur had been able to find it… And with Morgana living in the citadel at the time… He couldn't be sure.</p><p>The warlock looked up at the sky. <em>I had best be going. Camelot will miss me, </em>he said. <em>Thank you for giving me food and drink. </em></p><p>Wymarc smiled. <em>You are welcome anytime for the service you have done us. Before we part, may I ask what you were doing so far from the citadel? </em>Merlin didn't know what harm it could do, especially because perhaps warning the druids to vacate the area could only be a good idea.</p><p><em>Morgana—she casts a Working to bring forth an army of Sluagh in three weeks' time. I came to see if I could discover more, </em>Merlin explained. <em>It would perhaps be wise to leave the area; the Sluagh are violent creatures.</em></p><p>Wymarc's face became hard, her smile dropping. <em>She knows not what she summons. The Sluagh can't be controlled so easily. We had felt her Working, but we could not say what exactly it did, only that it was incomplete. </em>Her hands tightened on her wooden cup (far more expertly carved than Merlin's earlier bowl).</p><p><em>I worry for Camelot's safety, </em>Merlin confessed.<em> Everything I have read about the Sluagh… They will destroy everything in their path. And I don't even know how Morgana plans to use them exactly. </em></p><p>The other druids were watching them, clearly listening in on their conversation. Merlin wanted to shy from their stares, but instead he focused on Wymarc's intense expression.</p><p><em>You are right to worry, </em>she said. <em>But such things have been tried in the past, though only a few have succeeded in implementing the Sluagh effectively. </em>Merlin's hopes rose. Perhaps Wymarc would tell him of the Working, and his trip would prove fruitful in that regard after all.</p><p><em>Could you tell me about them? </em>he asked.</p><p>Wymarc nodded solemnly. <em>I will tell you what I can anticipate of Morgana's plans. She has likely promised the Sluagh they will be able to feast upon the souls and bodies of Camelot's citizens; that would be enough to entice them to come.</em></p><p><em>But she perhaps plans to betray them; for if left unchecked, the Sluagh would leave no kingdom left to rule. They would begin to ravage other lands until a different mage banished them back to </em>Flæsc.</p><p><em>Is that possible? To banish them after they've come? </em>Merlin asked eagerly. His books had not mentioned such a thing. Wymarc rubbed her chin with one bony finger.</p><p><em>Not as you think, </em>she said. <em>Many Sluagh will have gathered on the </em>Flæsc <em>side of the tear Morgana plans to rend open—hundreds, perhaps even thousands. To banish them back… They would not go. You might open a rift, but I doubt you could trick them into going in when they are so eager to take the peoples' souls. Afterward, when they are more sated, more drowsy, their numbers depleted… Then, a mage might persuade them back to their corrupted realm. </em></p><p>Merlin's hopes sank. He would have to go through with his plan to create a runic configuration to protect Camelot—as well as other defenses, ideas that lingered in his mind like cobwebs, things he had thought of before but abandoned because of their risk. And he would have to defend the kingdom against hundreds upon hundreds of the awful things. He didn't know if he could do it.</p><p><em>Is there anything more? </em>he asked.</p><p><em>You must know that only a most powerful magic can defeat them. They are steeped in their own realm's corrupted magic, and it protects them well. Morgana is powerful enough that the threat of her magic—in combination with the lure of Camelot—will be enough for them to do as she asks. At least in the beginning. </em>Wymarc set her empty cup aside.</p><p><em>What if it isn't enough? </em>Merlin said.</p><p><em>They will turn on her entirely and commit terrible atrocities across all of Albion, </em>Wymarc answered grimly. She stood, then, and the whole camp watched, as if holding their breath. <em>We must prepare to move. I have told you all I can, and I thank you for the warning. </em></p><p>Merlin stood as well, understanding that the conversation had ended. Even the children had gone quiet, sensing the mood of the adults. He wondered how hard they would have to push to be out of Camelot by three weeks' time. They were likely used to leaving with little notice; many kingdoms disliked druids, Camelot foremost among them.</p><p><em>I thank you for the help you've given. </em>He gave her a bow (far deeper than the ones he usually gave Arthur), and she dipped her head in return.</p><p>
  <em>Good luck, Emrys. </em>
</p><p>He grimaced, knowing he was going to need it.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Thank you so much for the response! Did you guys like the druid OCs? How was Arthur's reaction? How do you guys feel about how I'm doing the episodes? Please let me know in case I need to change something :)</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. Chapter 4</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <strong>Chapter Four: Gwen</strong>
</p><p>"Rise and shine!" Merlin's irritatingly cheerful voice pierced Arthur's veil of sleep. Bright light suddenly assaulted his closed eyes, and he groaned. Why did Merlin have to be so chipper this early? It was infuriating.</p><p>And then, he remembered.</p><p>Arthur opened his eyes, sitting up. Merlin—the sorcerer, the traitor, the man who had apparently saved his life at least three times using magic—was facing away from him, laying the prince's breakfast out on the table. It made him furious, rage like fire sweeping through his veins. He had tucked the anger away earlier, in favor of a more calculated, objective approach—but this—</p><p>The emotions cracked on his resolve like waves eroding a rock.</p><p>He gripped his sheets, his knuckles bleached white. Trembling, he resisted the urge to grasp his sword and gut the worthless traitor. <em>He's a liar, through and through; I can't let him live, better to do it now— </em></p><p>He hadn't anticipated the feelings that would overcome him in Merlin's physical presence, the memories. And his internal war, the war that had begun within him last night…</p><p>It raged inside him.</p><p>
  <em>He saved my life. I will not strike him down now. </em>
</p><p>Merlin's nimble hands re-arranged Arthur's preferred breakfast how he liked it. "—council meeting later, and I think Lord Maverick is looking to marry his daughter off to you or one of the knights close to you; he's bringing her here, keeps talking to the others about it, never mind that you've rejected about a thousand marriage proposals…" He trailed off as he turned, catching Arthur's eye. "Is everything alright?"</p><p>The prince blinked. <em>Don't tip him off. </em>"Yes, of course, <em>Mer</em>lin." The traitor still looked tired—exhausted, even—but this observation no longer caused Arthur any distress (or so he told himself). The man was lucky Arthur had decided not to kill him outright, as his father surely would've done. His father, still ill in his chambers.</p><p>Did Merlin have something to do with that? Was he somehow preventing Uther from getting better in an effort to kill the man who had made it his life's goal to eradicate the evils of magic?</p><p>He would find out in the journal; he knew he would.</p><p>"Are you sure?" Merlin asked, coming closer. Arthur resisted the urge to flinch; he didn't want the sorcerer to touch him, and the look on his face was so—so <em>Merlin. </em>Not like how he'd imagined. He'd thought it would've looked darker, more evil, with his discovery.</p><p>But it just looked like Merlin.</p><p>"Yes, I'm <em>sure," </em>Arthur said, scuttling out of bed the opposite side of the traitor. His sword was on this side, and he itched to grab it, to hold it close. His mind whirred with everything he'd learned last night. Merlin's rants, the fact that he'd had magic since he was a babe. It seemed even more overwhelming in the light of day, with the sorcerer (warlock, whatever) right here in front of him.</p><p>Merlin was watching him, concern revealed in the way he cocked his head, the way his eyebrows furrowed. He looked nothing like an evil sorcerer, and the thought seemed to fuel the prince's anger. "Where were you yesterday?" Arthur demanded.</p><p>Was Merlin's split-second hesitation his tell, the unconscious implication of a lie? "Doing things for Gaius, mostly," he said. "There was a bad outbreak in the lower town—very urgent." Was he lying? He hadn't seen Gaius yesterday, giving credence to Merlin's words, but…</p><p>"Funny—I would've thought I might've heard about such an outbreak," Arthur said, trying not to let bitterness seep into his tone. Merlin's eyes widened minutely before his expression returned to normal. If Arthur hadn't been watching for it, he never would've seen it.</p><p>The servant shrugged. "I don't know what to tell you—"</p><p>"The truth, perhaps," Arthur interrupted pointedly, trying not to snarl. Merlin glanced away, looking startled. Had Arthur really let his lies go so unchallenged? Had he really allowed this <em>traitor </em>to dictate how their conversations went, placating Arthur with needless falsehoods?</p><p>(<em>He's saved your life, whatever his lies, </em>a voice tried to tell him, but he didn't listen, he couldn't listen, he <em>wouldn't </em>listen).</p><p>"It <em>is</em> the truth—" Merlin began.</p><p>"No, it's not. Lying to your prince is a capital offense, Merlin," Arthur told him. "I will do without your services today; you can spend the time you would normally be serving me in the stocks."</p><p>Merlin's mouth dropped. It had been years since Arthur had thrown him in the stocks—years since he had seriously threatened it, even. <em>He must learn that there are consequences for what he says to me. </em>The prince was desperate to punish him, to hurt him in the way he'd hurt Arthur. But he couldn't, not yet. The stocks would have to do to allay the storm of hurt and fury inside him.</p><p>Confidently, despite the fact he was only in his nightclothes, Arthur strode out the door to his chambers. The guards outside stood to attention, looking at him in askance.</p><p>"You will escort my manservant to the stocks. He is not to be let out until after sundown," Arthur ordered. "And fetch me another servant—preferably not that George fellow." The guards glanced at each other, as if unsure of what to do. "<em>Now." </em></p><p>The scurried to obey, entering his chambers. Arthur stepped back to watch, crossing his arms over his chest. <em>And this way, I don't have to worry about him walking in on me reading the diary. </em>It made sense, both to sooth the burning feeling in his chest and to prevent him from learning about what Arthur was doing.</p><p>The guards each grabbed one of Merlin's arms. "Arthur?" he asked, still bewildered. "I don't understand. Why are you—"</p><p>"You will resume serving me tomorrow," the prince said dismissively, making a shooing motion with his hand. He turned away, so he didn't have to see the look of dueling hurt and anger on the traitor's face.</p><p>Merlin went willingly enough, as though the thought of using his magic to escape never crossed his mind. <em>And it serves a third purpose—a test. Will he obey me even when he doesn't like it, when he has the ability to disobey?</em></p><p>Only time would tell.</p><hr/><p>Arthur knew other rulers felt a sense of power in their throne rooms, but to Arthur, this place had always represented his duty and responsibility to his people. When all eyes turned to him for guidance, he had to know the answers; he had to have a response. It was a physical pressure some days, bearing down on his chest and compressing his lungs.</p><p>He hadn't expected the knights to be back so soon with news. He'd wanted to go over the diary more, preparing himself for the job of punishing a person he'd, only a day ago, considered to be his dearest friend—if admitted only in the privacy of his mind.</p><p>Lancelot, Elyan, and Leon kneeled before the throne, dipping their heads respectfully. It had always seemed so odd to Arthur that Lancelot and Merlin were such close friends, given his open subservience. The thought of Merlin sent a horrible pang through his chest. He glanced out the window; it looked to be rather warm outside, likely one of the last hot days of the season.</p><p>"It pleases me that you found such news so quickly, sir knights," Arthur said. He liked to think he knew when to withhold as well as give out praise. "You may rise and give your report."</p><p>In the height of this new revelation, he had nearly forgotten about Morgana—his furious half-sister, intent on conquering his kingdom and harming his subjects. This was a rather forceful reminder, and one Arthur dreaded; would Merlin prove to be working with Morgana, corrupted by magic in the end, though he had resisted its evils since birth?</p><p>(Assuming it <em>was </em>evil, which Arthur couldn't believe wholeheartedly, not after what he had already learned.)</p><p>The knights rose and Leon stepped forward, as the small squad's leader and most senior knight. "Sire, Sir Lancelot was fortunate enough to get wind of what appears to be the entirety of Morgana's plot," the red-haired man said. He motioned for the other man to speak.</p><p>"There seemed to be one knowledgeable man among the more ignorant folk, my lord," Lancelot said. "He said the witch had tried to recruit him as a mercenary—I sensed no lie in this statement, as his bearing and dress was that of a fighter. He told me that once he understood the breadth of her plans, he fled, wanting no part of such a dark magic."</p><p>Arthur nodded. Perhaps Merlin had been right to—well. Why <em>had </em>Merlin been so adamant about the prince sending Elyan and Lancelot? It didn't make sense to him, not now. Merlin couldn't have had the kingdom's best interests at heart, though Arthur couldn't see any of his other knights (except perhaps Percival or Gwaine) engaging with a mercenary.</p><p>The prince pointedly did not think about how Merlin's diary had, thus far, revealed only that Merlin had tried to save Camelot.</p><p>"I asked him what sort of dark magic, and he said he wasn't exactly sure, but he knew Morgana had needed many sorcerers to make the spell work. And he knew something else, sire: he mentioned an army made up of the Sluagh. He said they might be some sort of creature," Lancelot finished. "Perhaps she gathers them there."</p><p>Arthur's first instinct was to direct Gaius to the task. The physician stood off to the side, refusing to look directly at the prince; likely, he was upset his ward had been thrown in the stocks. Arthur felt little remorse for his distress, for the man had lied to him.</p><p>"Thank you, sir knights. You have done well. Was there any other information you gathered?" Arthur prodded. His backside ached from sitting in the hard chair, but he found cushions only made him want to lounge (which was not a look a ruler wanted).</p><p>"I did get an exact number for the other sorcerers, my lord," Elyan replied. "Twelve others, it was said, for a total of thirteen."</p><p>"An evil number, to be certain," Arthur acknowledge. His thoughts raced. An army, then—maybe. And twelve other sorcerers in addition to his already-powerful sister. "Any news of Morgause?"</p><p>"No mentions, sire," Leon answered.</p><p>"Were there any estimates as to the size of this 'army' or the number of mercenaries she has employed?" The prince resisted the urge to drum his fingers on the armrest. An army so soon after the last—he didn't know if Camelot would be able to withstand a normal attack, never mind the mention of "creatures."</p><p>"None, my lord," Leon said.</p><p>"The mercenary did say the witch planned to attack in three weeks' time," Lancelot broke in. Arthur inhaled sharply as attendants and council members began to speak in hushed tones, voices high with terror. That was no time at all to prepare. And with—with everything else happening… His father… Merlin…</p><p>He gathered himself together, taking the shards of his turmoil and burying them deep. He would do what needed to be done, ill father or no. Traitorous Merlin or no. He would forge ahead.</p><p>The prince cleared his throat, and the crowd fell silent. Those faces, those trembling eyes, they depended on him. And thousands more outside here. "We will begin preparations immediately," he announced. "Gaius." He didn't want to trust the old man, but he had little choice. "Find out as much as you can about this 'Sluagh.' Sir Leon, begin recruiting. We will have a curfew and start evacuating as many citizens as possible behind the walls."</p><p>His father would've disagreed with the last idea. It meant more mouths to feed, less food for the nobles. But Arthur wasn't his father. Some of the councilors looked as though they wanted to protest, but none spoke. Their complaints would be heard at later meetings—meetings that would have to be doubled in order to facilitate all the planning that needed to be done.</p><p>And there was still Merlin.</p><p>"Dismissed," Arthur told the room, and everyone began to shuffle out. How was he meant to deal with all of this?</p><p>But dealing with "all of this" was his job, and he would do as well as he could.</p><hr/><p>"I don't know what to do," Arthur whispered, gripping his father's cold hand. Uther's eyes were closed, and he was the picture of death: frail, pale, and still. The prince wondered how long he <em>really </em>had left, though Gaius assured him there was still a chance he would get better.</p><p>Gaius, a man who had lied to him and his father, shielded his ward. Shielded <em>Merlin </em>from death or worse, Merlin who was a liar, a traitor—but had also saved Arthur or Camelot multiple times.</p><p>"There is a report that Morgana comes, marching with an army of something called the Sluagh," he told his father. "I've begun preparations, but I fear for Camelot. We've fought off many things, Father, but never so close together." And it piled worry on top of worry. Logically, he knew he should be more concerned about this—and he was, he was more than concerned; he was almost panicked—but the predicament with Merlin haunted him.</p><p>"I don't know what to do," Arthur repeated. Uneaten food sat on a tray on his father's bedside table. He knew what Uther would say: execute Merlin publically and focus on Morgana.</p><p>But was that any way to repay what Merlin had done for him? Still—he couldn't get the man's <em>lies </em>out of his head. How much was real? How much a farce?</p><p>"Is magic truly evil?" Arthur asked, his voice soft. He rubbed his callused thumb over Uther's soft hand. "Were you really so wrong?" That anger continued to bubble in his chest, hot and heavy. He wanted Merlin to pay, on some level, for the hurt he'd caused.</p><p><em>Just banish him, </em>a voice said. <em>Banish him and be done with it. </em>It would take care of the problem entirely. But… Arthur had to know. And what if Merlin merely ran to Morgana, and she gained what seemed like a powerful sorcerer?</p><p>There were too many uncertainties, uncertainties that might be solved by searching through the journal. <em>I could toss him in the dungeons. </em>But was there any guarantee he wouldn't be able to simply leave? Merlin had been slippery even without the apparent use of magic.</p><p>"And how can I devote so much time to this when my people are in danger?" Arthur said aloud. He paused, as though waiting for a response. When none came, he replaced Uther's arm back down on the bed.</p><p>The prince stood and left his father's chambers, nodding to the guards outside. He made his way to his own rooms, knowing the next few hours would be spent making plans and hoping Gaius could get him more information about this "Sluagh." He had another council meeting that evening, and he would want to appear before the people soon to reassure them.</p><p>But as he sat down at his desk, that drawer called to him. What if Merlin <em>had </em>turned to Morgana's side? Would it not be better to know, to plant information?</p><p>To kill him?</p><p>Surely it wouldn't hurt to simply look; he would still have plenty of time to prepare afterward, so long as he didn't lose track of the hour.</p><p><em>Okay, but only a look. </em>He almost couldn't believe himself as he got up to fetch the diary. Morgana was pressing closer with a possible army, and here he was trying to figure out his traitorous sorcerer of a manservant instead of executing him.</p><p>"I should execute him," Arthur said bitterly as he sat and opened the book. Still, he couldn't resist; he <em>needed </em>to know, needed to know whether Merlin had wholly betrayed him.</p><p>(<em>He couldn't have betrayed you in the first place, Arthur. He was born with his magic, and evidence shows he's done nothing but save your life with it). </em></p><p>He began the next entry, squinting to decipher Merlin's chicken-scratch handwriting:</p><p>
  <em>Perhaps the prince isn't as bad as I thought he was. Let me explain. </em>
</p><p>That was certainly a change of tone. Arthur didn't know how to feel; anger still simmered in him, but there was a certain doubt, too. A doubt that shadowed everything—from his lurking suspicion of his father's doctrine to Merlin's friendship.</p><p>
  <em>King Bayard was here with his retinue, and he offered both Arthur and Uther goblets (I don't know why he chose that for a gift; they have probably a million goblets already). Anyway, (what I thought was) a serving girl told me he had poisoned Arthur's goblet, and when I tried to tell the king, he made me drink it! I sort of collapsed, and the only antidote to the poison was the Mortaeus flower, which obviously I couldn't get at the time. </em>
</p><p>Arthur still remembered the cold panic he'd felt, and then the determination to defy his father and save the peasant who had saved <em>him. </em>But what could've been Merlin's angle? <em>Why </em>had he done all of this—why save the son of a man who would see him dead? Because a dragon had told him Arthur was "destined for greatness" (whatever that meant)? He had to have some kind of ulterior motive.</p><p>
  <em>Uther forbade Arthur from getting the flower (or so Gaius told me later), but Arthur did it anyway. The prince saved my life (well, sort of. He wouldn't have needed to if I hadn't saved his life first). Uther locked him up for it, but Gwen helped get the flower to me. </em>
</p><p>Arthur recalled vividly his despair that his venture had been for naught. Gwen had helped Merlin that night and proven her loyalty to both him and Arthur. She was a good woman: kind and brave.</p><p>
  <em>She also kind of kissed me. It was nice. I'm not sure I can let it go any further, though. How could I bear to lie to her if we were more than friends? I can barely stand lying to her now. </em>
</p><p>Arthur's eyes widened. She'd <em>kissed </em>him—beautiful Gwen had kissed bumbling <em>Merlin? </em>Except he wasn't bumbling, was he? In these first few pages he had already proven himself oddly competent. Anyway, it seemed as though it hadn't gone anywhere.</p><p>
  <em>The prince is still a prat, but he's not terrible. I guess he does care about people other than himself. Oh, and the serving girl is actually a sorceress called Nimueh (or so Gaius says). An evil sorceress, at that. I have a feeling she's not going to vanish anytime soon. </em>
</p><p>Nimueh. Arthur could recall vaguely hearing the name, but couldn't think of a face; Merlin's prediction likely hadn't come true. After facing defeat, she had probably left Camelot alone for good. The prince continued with the next entry.</p><p>
  <em>So someone else kind of learned about my magic today. But it wasn't my fault, no matter what Gaius says. It's not like I go around telling people; these things just happen to me. </em>
</p><p>It sounded so like Merlin… Again, Arthur was struck by how similar this <em>sorcerer </em>in the pages was to the man he knew. How much <em>had </em>he lied? So far… It seemed he had only lied when necessary, to protect his secret. And magic from birth—none of it made any goddamn sense.</p><p>
  <em>Anyway, it started when he first saved my life. The man's name is Lancelot, and he saved me from a griffon (which has the front-half of an eagle, and the back-half of a lion). When he came to Camelot, I learned he wanted to be a knight. Except there's a rule about only nobility being able to be knights (such rubbish!), even though Lancelot is far nobler than most of the lords who decide to become knights anyway. </em>
</p><p>"Lancelot knows?" Arthur breathed aloud. One of his most loyal knights in cahoots with a warlock? He had to—had to banish Lancelot. How could the knight have let this knowledge go? The man was meant to put Camelot first—<em>Arthur </em>first. And instead he had—he had—</p><p>Arthur pressed his lips into a line and read on.</p><p>
  <em>In return for him saving my life, I decided to help him become a knight by forging him a seal of nobility. It's not like he doesn't deserve to be one anyway; the rules are wrong. But the griffon kept being a nuisance, and eventually Arthur (and Lancelot) decided to ride against it, even though Gaius's research pointed to the fact that griffons can only be killed with magic.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Naturally, I had to follow the stupid sword-swinging idiots to save them. I ended up enchanting Lancelot's lance as he charged the griffon, helping him kill it (fortunately, Arthur was unconscious at the time). </em>
</p><p>Merlin had helped kill the griffon? Really—how many defeats had he been responsible for but had received no credit? Perhaps that was why he had decided to continue with magic—perhaps he had ended up betraying Arthur, in the end. With Lancelot's help, a man who had apparently been covering for him since the beginning.</p><p>With effort, the prince controlled his labored breathing.</p><p>
  <em>The blue flames were kind of hard to miss, though. Lancelot knows, but he's promised to keep my secret. He's a good man, if a bit insufferable. He decided he couldn't stay in Camelot because he feels he doesn't deserve knighthood. He says he didn't really kill the griffon. </em>
</p><p><em>I mean, it's not like </em>I <em>wielded the lance, is it? At least he's not Arthur's level of insufferable. I hope to see him again, though; it's nice knowing that not everyone thinks I'm a monster. </em></p><p>A monster? Was that truly what Merlin thought of himself as? Sorcerers were meant to be arrogant, conceited. Merlin sounded… insecure. Arthur felt sick. Lancelot had been lying to him. Merlin had been lying to him. <em>Morgana </em>had been lying to him. Was he destined to spend his life around liars?</p><p>He forged ahead. The diary described things of a similar vein: Edwin—the man who had claimed the ability to cure all ills—had really been a sorcerer intent on killing his father; Sofia had not truly been a young woman but a Sidhe who'd tried to sacrifice Arthur; Merlin consulting the dragon in order to forge a sword to defeat the wraith (and having Uther wield it in Arthur's place). Next came Arthur helping to save Ealdor.</p><p>It was bizarre, how much Merlin had done, with little reward. And it was bizarre how often he'd been right. He'd been right to counsel the prince against killing the unicorn. He'd been right about Valiant.</p><p>But what was his <em>motive? </em>Arthur wanted to tear his hair out in frustration. Had the magic not corrupted him? <em>Was </em>magic corrupting? He didn't know, and it was killing him. Magic had tainted Morgana; surely Merlin wasn't an exception.</p><p>And Lancelot… The knight's loyalty was an issue. It called into question <em>everything. </em>Arthur groaned, rubbing his face. He had other things to attend to—this army—except—</p><p>Did he even know if this army was real? Was Merlin feeding Arthur false information through Lancelot? The prince seized the journal with an almost feverish energy. Surely he would've written about it?</p><p>Arthur flipped to the last few entries. He'd read that one—the one that had started it all. His eyes flew to the next one.</p><p>
  <em>I can no longer afford to be passive in the fight for Camelot. After I defeated the immortal army—with Lance's help, of course—Gaius told me I'd done a good job. But know that it's not true, reader, whoever you are. I have been reactive in fighting against Camelot's foes, not proactive. The shadows have shielded me, but they have also chained me. How many might have lived had I been able to protect them with all my might, out in the open?</em>
</p><p>The tone immediately struck Arthur as different. Gone was the cheery if overwhelmed boy—this was a tired man. And Merlin had defeated the immortal army? Arthur had thought Morgana's or Morgause's magic had simply failed, prone to chaos as magic was.</p><p>But if Merlin had been responsible… And with Lancelot's help? Could it be possible, that Merlin was actually on Camelot's side—on <em>Arthur's </em>side? No. No, but… It seemed he was.</p><p>And it looked as though Merlin felt <em>guilty </em>for not being able to help more. He seemed despairing, almost distraught. Arthur couldn't reconcile this image with the vengeful sorcerers he had known all his life.</p><p>
  <em>Lancelot calls me brave. He's wrong. I may not be the coward Arthur says I am, but I have little courage, either. If I had courage, perhaps I would've been able to save the people Morgana slaughtered. Perhaps I could've prevented it, had I been but braver and smarter.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>I can't make the same mistake again. I allowed Morgana to live, knowing that she was a traitor, without making any real effort to curtail her powers or prevent her next schemes. Instead, I reacted to each in turn. It is a poor battle strategy, I have realized. </em>
</p><p>Arthur gripped the journal tightly. Merlin had known Morgana was a traitor? For how long? Why hadn't he told? Just how little did he truly trust Arthur, his prince? The words "poor battle strategy" was something the prince never thought he'd hear—or read—coming from his manservant.</p><p>If Merlin had continued to help from the shadows—which it seemed as though he had… He would've had to have planned, fought. How many threats had he taken care of secretly?</p><p>How many times had magic saved Arthur and his kingdom?</p><p>
  <em>But to do such a thing, to prepare for what I have been warned against—it will be risky. Far riskier than other things I have done. I can't hide it from Gaius, though I know he won't condone what I'm planning to do. It chips away at me to lie to my friends, and to lie to my mentor, the one who knows all that I am and all I have done… It would be worse. </em>
</p><p>So Merlin told Gaius then—about everything. The thought didn't disturb Arthur as much as he thought it would have. The sorcerer—warlock—sounded almost <em>upset </em>at his own actions. Remorseful. It was another trait Arthur was not accustomed to assigning to sorcerers.</p><p>And what exactly were these "risky" things he was preparing? Magic, presumably, but Merlin gave no specific hints. It worried Arthur; he didn't know what such a thing entailed.</p><p>
  <em>I must do this. I must prepare myself and Camelot the best I can. My true best. I have not allowed myself to try such things before this, but the citadel will crumble under an attack so soon after the last. Greater risks bring greater rewards—and lives are priceless. I cannot think to let Morgana again take Camelot, this time with a hoard of monsters. To come back and see people I have known for years among the dead, innocent children and brave men and women—far braver than I…</em>
</p><p>Merlin had seen truly in his assessment. But how had he known Morgana was coming? Arthur had only just learned, and he'd taken the journal too recently for Merlin to have discovered it through him.</p><p><em>I have to alert Arthur somehow about this, without bringing suspicion upon my head. But I guess I should also explain what Morgana is doing. I suppose it began when I had a very strange, very terrible dream…<br/></em>And thus he related to Arthur that he had apparently accidentally sent his soul to another realm in his sleep and nearly gotten it stolen by the monsters Morgana planned to summon. And that he'd done something similar before, in summoning a light to help Arthur retrieve the Mortaeus flower (and if that wasn't shocking).</p><p>He wrote of how he needed to do more research on the Sluagh. How the dragon had helped him overcome his soul nearly being stolen. Arthur wanted to know more about this dragon—this dragon that was likely the same one that had tried to destroy Camelot. What role had Merlin played in that catastrophe? Why was the dragon still alive—and Merlin on speaking terms with it?</p><p>The sorcerer explained his worry that he might not be able to warn Arthur in time. <em>I think you figured it out, </em>Arthur thought bitterly. He must've told Lancelot—unless the knight really <em>had </em>come across a mercenary with all that information, which suddenly seemed unlikely. What a blow it was, to know that two people he had trusted had been lying to him for years.</p><p>But… It seemed a lesser blow than it had before. Despite all odds, Merlin hadn't betrayed him entirely: he still fought for Camelot. In fact, it seemed he planned to <em>help </em>Camelot in its upcoming battle with the Sluagh. It frustrated Arthur that he wouldn't know these plans—he wouldn't be able to as effectively work with him if he didn't know.</p><p>Arthur closed the diary and rubbed his face. Relief welled within him. Merlin, although he had decided to continue to practice magic, hadn't completely betrayed him. The man expressed remorse for his lies, even if that wasn't enough for him to confess.</p><p>He had saved Arthur—and Camelot—a multitude of times. And the prince sensed that his hand hadn't been absent from the other catastrophes Camelot had faced. Just how many times over did Arthur owe his kingdom to this man?</p><p>This strange man, who he had thought his friend. Who he had thought a powerless servant, if wise and clever at times. Who had turned out to be a sorcerer—and no weak one, at that. One who had saved him. And his kingdom.</p><p>His motives were a mystery, but there was no denying his actions, not anymore.</p><p>The prince stood to lock the journal back up. He had plans to formulate, soldiers and knights to deploy. He felt a twinge of guilt, knowing Merlin was still in the stocks. But he shoved it down; he had lied, after all. And he might become corrupted regardless. Though with how he had been born with magic… This was still a strange thought, antithesis to everything the prince had been taught.</p><p>Arthur didn't know enough to understand if Merlin was merely an exception to magic's corrupting influence. If he wasn't… Then why had Morgana turned? Why had so many others tried to kill him? His father had been wrong. But how wrong?</p><p>He tucked the jewelry drawer's key into his belt and sat at his desk to work.</p><hr/><p>Sweat dripped down Merlin's face as he withstood the heat of the sun overhead. He hadn't been permitted to remove his jacket, and the fabric was stifling. This was the hottest it had been all week, and Merlin thought he might collapse.</p><p>He was thankful he had finally gotten used to the stench of rotten fruits and vegetables and that no one had taken to throwing excrement or rocks (that had been by far the worst time he'd ever spent in the stocks).</p><p>Merlin tried to take it all with the grace he had before, but a bitter anger boiled beneath the surface. He hadn't cared when <em>Uther </em>had thrown him in here, causing his back and wrists and legs to cramp and ache. Uther was a careless, arrogant tyrant. But he'd expected more from his son. Merlin had missed days before, and never had he been met with such a reaction. Today, Arthur hadn't even pressed, hadn't prodded; he'd only punished.</p><p>How could he? Did their unspoken friendship mean so little? Merlin had done his best for Arthur, and this—this was how the prince treated him? He hardly ever listened, and now Merlin felt the same burning indignity he'd felt when they'd first met, and later when Arthur had humiliated him with Cedric.</p><p>It was painful, and he did his best not to dwell on it. But what else was he meant to do, left out here with only the sun and his thoughts? He was already tired, so tired…</p><p><em>It's only a misunderstanding. Perhaps I missed something important yesterday. </em>That had to be it. Something had happened to set the prince off, and Merlin clearly hadn't read the situation correctly.</p><p>But his words… <em>The truth, perhaps. </em>They cut him deeper than Arthur knew. How desperately he wanted to tell the truth… And how far it was from his reach.</p><p>Stuck here, he couldn't work on his runes. One less day to prepare against Morgana and the Sluagh. Arthur was endangering Camelot by locking him here, not that he could've known that. (<em>Not with how you've lied to him… The truth, perhaps…</em>)</p><p>He <em>needed </em>to be out, testing configurations. Instead he was here. It burned like a need in him—like food and water. Every second of his free time (or time that he had <em>forced</em> into free time) had been spent working on what would hopefully save all of Camelot. He hadn't slept, had hardly ate—all to prevent that insidious feeling from coming again, all to prevent people he knew and loved from being ripped apart by monsters.</p><p>And Arthur had thrown him into the stocks. Merlin shifted, trying to take the weight off his shoulders, sweat molding his hair to his forehead. Though uncomfortable, his exhaustion kept nearly lulling him to sleep, only for him to be woken by the pain of his back or wrists.</p><p>Hearing footsteps from behind, he did his best to twist to see who it was, but the person revealed themselves almost immediately.</p><p>"Merlin!" Gwen came into view, eerily reminiscent of their first meeting. "Did Arthur throw you in there?" She was carrying laundry, likely mending.</p><p>"I'm not sure. I think he was maybe possessed; he was about a thousand times more grumpy than normal Arthur—and normal Arthur is already grumpier than a bear woken in the midst of hibernation."</p><p>Gwen didn't even try to smile at his (admittedly not that funny) joke. "Whatever for?" she asked, sounding offended on his behalf. "You haven't been in the stocks for years." A couple of rowdy teenagers approached, bearing baskets of vegetables, but they turned around when Gwen gave them a glare.</p><p>Merlin sighed. "I didn't show up for work yesterday," he admitted. For any other servant, such a thing might've earned them a whipping (not that Arthur was inclined to whip anyone; that had been more Uther's thing). But Merlin's friendship with Arthur had prevented him from experiencing such harsh punishments.</p><p>"Why?" Gwen's brows furrowed.</p><p>"I was helping Gaius," Merlin said. He didn't use his "something broke out in the lower town" excuse. Arthur had made it very clear that particular lie was flimsier than a lace curtain.</p><p>"And he punished you for that?" Gwen demanded. She was getting a gleam in her eye that Merlin often saw before she gave someone a piece of her mind. "For helping Gaius, your <em>mentor?" </em></p><p>"Gwen, it's fine," Merlin insisted, awkwardly making a flapping motion with his hand. "He just… er, misunderstood. I don't need you to do anything."</p><p>"No, it's not fine. You're already tired from <em>something—</em>something you don't want to tell me about—and Arthur's just made it worse by punishing you for helping his own <em>citizens. </em>It's ridiculous. He's your friend, and friends aren't meant to treat each other this way."</p><p>Merlin felt simultaneously grateful and guilty. While he'd been gathering herbs, he hadn't <em>really </em>been helping Gaius, not in the way she was being led to believe. And she still wanted to defend him, despite her knowing he was keeping secrets.</p><p>"Arthur usually works these things out on his own," Merlin said. "I just—give him time."</p><p>"No, he usually works things out when someone tells him he's being an arrogant ass," Gwen corrected. That was probably more true. She hefted her laundry more comfortably on her hip. "When are you being released?"</p><p>"After sunset," Merlin said. All the talking had made his mouth extra-dry, and he wished desperately for some water (or food or shade, neither of which he'd had for hours upon hours).</p><p>"I'll talk to him," Gwen decided, patting Merlin's shoulder, one of the only parts of him that hadn't been spattered in rotten food. "Okay? You can't stay in there all day."</p><p>Merlin didn't think Arthur would release him, though Gwen could be very stubborn. "Thanks, Gwen," he said, swallowing down his guilt. He wasn't sure he deserved her, but he would do his damn best to try. And that would start with helping to save Camelot—as soon as he could get out of these stocks.</p><p>"Of course." She smiled gently at him and walked away, leaving him with sweat pooling beneath his clothes and matting his hair.</p><hr/><p>Gwen resisted the urge to march through the corridors. She still had her mending, and she tried not to grip the basket too forcefully as she walked. People nodded and smiled at her as she passed. It was pity, she knew; they felt bad that she had lost her job with Morgana.</p><p>But she smiled and nodded back because they were only trying to help, even if she didn't want their sympathies. The looks reminded her of the ones she'd received when her father had died: a sort of faked, plastered sadness.</p><p>Gwen entered the laundry room. People bustled about, fetching water and soap and clothes. The air was heavy with the scent of oils. She approached a couple of other servants gossiping as they washed their respective master's clothes.</p><p>"—And I heard he got her with child!" Abigail exclaimed. Her cheeks and hands were ruddy from work. "Isn't that dreadful? I mean, what's she to do now that he's gone?"</p><p>"That is—oh, hello, Gwen," Abigail's companion—Garrick—turned to face her. "How have you been?" He was a short man with a darker complexion.</p><p>Gwen smiled. He'd always been nice to everyone; he was a rather gentle fellow. "Fine, thank you. I was wondering if I could ask you two a favor?" she asked, knowing they'd likely say yes. The two of them owed her a few favors themselves, not that she lorded it over them.</p><p>"Of course," Abigail said immediately. "Anything you need."</p><p>She held up her basket. "Most of them are done, but there's still a few that need mending. Only, something's come up, and I don't think I'll be able to finish in time. I was wondering if you two would be able to finish them for me? I can of course pay you, but it's just important—"</p><p>"Don't think anything of it," Garrick interrupted. Gwen tried to control her blush; she hadn't meant to go on like that. "And you don't have to pay us—or at least not me. I still remember how you helped after Bella. This is the least I can do." Bella had been his wife, killed during Sigan's attack with the gargoyles. Garrick had been a wreck afterward, red-eyed and listless. Gwen had helped him with work, taking on some of his washing and other chores.</p><p>"I mean, I suppose I could use a ha'penny—" Garrick gave her a look, and Abigail cleared her throat. "Er, no, you don't have to give me anything. We'll finish it for you, no problem." She could be a bit gruff, but ultimately she was kind.</p><p>Gwen lowered the basket to the ground, feeling both grateful and triumphant. "Thank you," she said. "I really appreciate it." Garrick nodded, smiling, and Abigail murmured something like <em>you're welcome. </em>Gwen nearly ran into another servant in her hast to get out the door.</p><p>Honestly, she could not <em>believe </em>Arthur. She'd thought he'd changed. He'd grown more compassionate over the years (or perhaps, with Uther's influence lessening, he'd been able to let out that compassion). And more understanding.</p><p>Gwen strode up the stairs. If she'd worn trousers, she would've gone up two at a time. Had this event—Arthur needlessly throwing Merlin in the stocks—taken place even a few months prior, Gwen wouldn't have dared to confront the prince. Now, however, with his open affection and king-hood close at hand, she was feeling bold.</p><p>After all, a king needed to listen to his subjects, and Gwen found she had a lot to say on <em>this </em>particular subject. She gave a little curtsey to the guards outside his door before knocking—sharp, loud raps.</p><p>"Come in," he called, and she entered, shutting the thick wooden doors behind her.</p><p>The prince sat at his desk, looking over his papers. His face almost matched the paper for color, and his eyes were rimmed with red. He'd always seemed tired to Gwen, though she knew he'd been exhausted lately from ruling without his father.</p><p>"Hello, Gwen." He offered her a small smile and set down his work, gesturing to one of the chairs at his table. "Sit, please. What brings you here?" The <em>nerve. </em>As if he didn't know. How could he act so normally when he had done something so abnormal? Throwing Merlin in the stocks as though he hadn't served Arthur loyally for <em>years. </em></p><p>"Don't 'what brings you here' me," she said, marching closer. Her hands landed firmly on her hips. "It should very well be obvious what brings me here."</p><p>He stared up at her blankly. "Is it?" His eyes had a far-away look, as though he were thinking about something else and not the issue <em>directly in front of him. </em>"I apologize, Guinevere; I've been concerned with Morgana and the possibility of an attack."</p><p>"Has there been news?" Gwen asked, brows furrowing. She hadn't heard about that. Usually the castle would've been abuzz with such gossip, and she had so many people who would've loved to tell her such a thing. But maybe… Everyone had avoided talking about Morgana around her. It had taken her a long time to find out that she stirred on Camelot's border with Essetir.</p><p>Arthur nodded. "I'm afraid so." He sighed, shoulders slumping. It was a show of trust that he would do such a thing in front of her. "Lancelot brought back news that she attacks in three weeks' time, with an army of creatures called the 'Sluagh.'"</p><p>Gwen bit her lip. Another army so soon after the last? Something like panic stirred in her gut. "I can understand your distraction," she said. She would've thought Arthur would've been <em>more </em>inclined to keep Merlin around; the prince (wittingly or not) often relied on the younger man for emotional support. Perhaps there had been more to this than she'd originally thought.</p><p>"But that's not what you came here to discuss, is it?" Arthur asked rhetorically. He searched her face. "I really can't think—"</p><p>"Just so!" Gwen interrupted, hardly believing her daring. Months ago, she never would've dreamed of speaking to Arthur so openly, in his chambers. But this was <em>Merlin, </em>one of her dearest friends. "You never think, Arthur. Why on earth did you throw Merlin in the stocks for helping Gaius yesterday?"</p><p>Usually, when confronted, Arthur went on the defensive. It was something he'd learned from Uther, and while his calm deflections and justifications for his actions served him well in court, they were generally unwelcome among his friends. Especially when he'd done something wrong.</p><p>But instead of speaking, the prince looked away. His mouth thinned into a white line, and he pressed his hands flat on the table, as though to prevent them from clenching.</p><p>Gwen leaned forward. "Did something happen between you two?" she asked gently.</p><p>Arthur exhaled through his nose and lifted his hands, looking marginally calmer. He regarded her with his cool eyes and again gestured to a chair. "This may take a while. You might as well be comfortable."</p><p>"Alright," Gwen agreed hesitantly, pulling out one of his chairs and sitting in it. It was far better than the rickety things in her house; it had plush cushions and four feet that sat evenly on the floor.</p><p>The prince leaned forward. "Can I trust that nothing I say will leave this room?" he asked.</p><p>"Of course you can," Gwen assured. What in Albion had him so tense and insecure? And about <em>Merlin, </em>of all people? The manservant was an expert at supporting Arthur at this point; Gwen had more than once witnessed him pull Arthur from his funks.</p><p>"Have you ever felt like Merlin's been keeping secrets from us?" Arthur said. "Big secrets?" Gwen thought for a moment. She'd sensed something <em>odd </em>about him before, but nothing like what Arthur was describing. Or, well…</p><p>"Did you discover something about him?" she asked. "Something unexpected?"</p><p>"Yes. And it changed everything about how I view him and our…" He paused. "Friendship." To hear him admit it aloud meant this revelation had been big.</p><p>Gwen knew what it had to be; she'd stumbled across that particular secret years ago. She hadn't thought it would ever come up again. "Well, he's still Merlin, isn't he? So what if he likes men as well as women?"</p><p>She had caught him kissing a stable boy (and later a scullery maid) and had decided his inclinations probably went both ways. It wasn't something to be spoken of openly under Uther; broadcast one's "deviancy" too loudly and one was likely to be whipped or banished.</p><p>"Merlin likes men?" Arthur exclaimed. "Ye gods, can't the man just be <em>normal </em>for once in his miserable life!" He put his head in his hands. "How many things has he hidden from me?"</p><p>Gwen froze. "Er, you didn't…" She thought fast. "What I meant was I mean maybe I had a feeling that he liked men, but clearly that can't be what I meant because that's not what you meant. Merlin definitely only likes women, and I've only ever seen him with women ever, and I was mistaken. Trick of the mind, slip of the mouth."</p><p>Arthur groaned. "I don't particularly care if he likes men," he said. "I care that it's one lie in a long list he's given to me, practically on a fucking silver platter. And I can't even be mad because—because—" He looked near-tears, a state Gwen had hardly ever seen him. The closest he'd come was when he'd realized his father was in no fit state to rule after Morgana's attack.</p><p>Gwen let him recover himself, his breathing returning to normal, before she prompted, "Because?"</p><p>"He has magic, Gwen," Arthur said, his voice hard like the castle walls. "He's a sorcerer."</p><p>Many things flashed through Gwen's mind, then: sorcerers that had attacked Camelot, Morgana's vicious smirk as she killed innocent people, the dragon's flame. Magic? "That's not—" She remembered the fear wide in Morgana's eyes, a look that had been mirrored in the druid child's. Had she ever seen such an expression on Merlin's face?</p><p>She couldn't recall.</p><p>"How—how do you know?" she stammered. "Did you see him?"</p><p>Arthur shook his head. Perhaps he was mistaken, then? "I went to his chambers to talk to Gaius. Only neither of them were there. So I… Well, I found Merlin's diary and read it."</p><p>Gwen almost couldn't believe her ears. "You read his <em>diary? </em>And snooping through his things… Arthur, you really are unbelievable sometimes—"</p><p>"I think maybe we should focus on the bigger picture here!" Arthur cried. He rubbed his temple, and in a lower tone he said, "Merlin—our <em>Merlin </em>has been a sorcerer the entire time we've known him!"</p><p>The agony in his tone was palpable, and it was one Gwen shared. Was Merlin going to turn into the next Morgana? <em>No, don't think like that, </em>she admonished herself. <em>There must be time to save him—we'll show him how much we care for him. We won't let him turn… </em>"The entire time?" she asked in a tremulous voice.</p><p>Arthur stood from his desk and unlocked one of the drawers on his dresser. "See for yourself," he said, withdrawing a journal. "It's the first entry." Though it felt wrong to be doing this, Gwen took the diary and flipped to the first page. It was filled with Merlin's familiar scrawl, bringing back fond memories.</p><p>Merlin had taught her to read in exchange for her helping him learn serving duties. She almost hadn't believed it when he'd offered; she had always wanted to learn to read, to open books and suddenly know things she wouldn't have known otherwise. It had seemed like a forbidden skill, one reserved for nobility.</p><p>Gwen skimmed the words. Since he was a <em>babe? </em>She held her hand to her mouth. How horrible that must have been for him, so close to Camelot's border, constantly living in terror for his life. It made Gwen sick. And to know he'd saved Arthur with magic when they'd first met… And <em>Gaius. </em>What would Camelot have done without its court physician and crown prince?</p><p>"I knew he was brave before, but this is—" She couldn't find the words.</p><p>"Brave?" Arthur asked, raising both his eyebrows. "He's <em>lied </em>to us since the moment we met! Not to mention using magic, which is—is—"</p><p>"Don't you dare say evil, Arthur Pendragon," Gwen warned, pointing at him. "We both know that's not true, not after the druid boy. Not after reading this. How can a babe be evil?"</p><p>The prince's face twisted, as though he were in pain. "My father…" He seemed to know it was a weak excuse, and the sentence trailed off. The silence stretched, and Gwen let it. Arthur needed to think. "He <em>lied </em>to us," he finally said.</p><p>"So that he could live," Gwen defended. The Merlin in those first few pages had been no different from the Merlin she already knew, save the magic. He had been brave and reckless and completely ridiculous; his magic hadn't tainted him. "Your father would've killed him."</p><p>"I know." Arthur squeezed his eyes shut, trying to block out the world. "I know. I just—what am I supposed to think? Morgana was destroyed by magic—"</p><p>Gwen shook her head before he'd finished the sentence. "Morgana had magic long before she turned on us. Her dreams were glimpses into the future, and they never made her evil before. It was Morgause's influence, I think, together with Uther's rejection of both her parentage and her magic."</p><p>The prince's eyes widened. Had he truly not known, even after all the warnings she'd given him? Gwen had long suspected, but she hadn't let it trouble her.</p><p>"But…"</p><p>"Did you find anything in here to make you suspect Merlin?" Gwen held up the book, already knowing the answer. At least she knew now why her friend kept everything so close to the vest. <em>It must be so lonely, living here. </em>It was good Gaius knew, but the manservant had had to hide from his closest friends. Her heart welled with sympathy.</p><p>"Just the opposite," Arthur admitted. "He's been defending Camelot ever since he came. He saved me from evil Fae, helped kill the griffon, stopped Edwin, stopped Valiant… And that's in the first six or so entries."</p><p>Gwen blinked. "That's amazing," she breathed. Arthur scowled, his eyebrows drawing close together.</p><p>"I flipped ahead, to see if he'd stayed loyal," he said. Gwen frowned; of course Merlin had stayed loyal—<em>was </em>loyal. He'd proven that a hundred times over, even without her knowing about the magic. How had she even doubted him, even for a moment? Merlin and Morgana might have shared magic, but their temperaments were as opposite as fire and water. "And I think I know why he's been so tired. He's coming up with some kind of… magical defense, for Camelot. He knows as well as I that Camelot won't survive another attack." He seemed troubled by the idea.</p><p>"That's good, isn't it? More help means more people survive," she said. It was simple logic to her.</p><p>"He mentions it will be more visible than other things he's done—riskier. What if someone sees him?"</p><p>"You're worried about him," Gwen said. Honestly, Arthur needed to examine his emotions surrounding his manservant.</p><p>"No—I'm worried I'll have to execute him." That turned her cold, colder than she'd been in a long time. Arthur glanced at her grimly. "The law is the same, Gwen—I can change it for no man."</p><p>"Even when the law is wrong?" Gwen challenged. "I can't believe you! After everything he's admitted he's done for you, you'd just—just kill him? Like that?" She snapped her fingers. "Do our lives really mean so little to you?" She stood, ready to leave. She would listen when Arthur saw sense. Until then, she'd keep Merlin company.</p><p>"Gwen, please—that's not exactly what I meant," Arthur said, holding up a hand.</p><p>She raised an eyebrow. "You said what you said."</p><p>"I'm regent, not king. I can't change such a law on a whim." He sighed, and his papers fluttered in front of him. "Especially not now, when Morgana marches on my kingdom with a <em>magical </em>army. One we have no hope of beating back, not if what Merlin has written is true."</p><p>"With his help, we've beaten worse things," Gwen said, sitting back down. She could see the fatigue and weight of it all in his bowed shoulders. "We must trust him."</p><p>"How can I?" Arthur asked quietly, expression far away. He turned his attention back to her. "I need your help," he said, "if you're willing." Gwen sat quietly, ready for explanation. "I can't focus on all of this at once, but this <em>situation </em>is too urgent to leave aside. Help me read his journal. I have to prepare us for the army, but Merlin can't be ignored."</p><p>Gwen nodded. She hated to go behind Merlin's back, but she knew Arthur needed time to process this. And the manservant had his own things to focus on, it sounded like. He needed this distraction as much as Arthur did—which was to say, not at all.</p><p>"I'll do it. But first," she said with a meaningful look, "you need to do something for me."</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Thanks so much for the response! I really appreciate all the the people who are reading, bookmarking, leaving kudos, and commenting. Anyway, some questions: What did you think of Arthur's inner turmoil? His anger? What did you think of Gwen? I feel like sometimes she's neglected in the fandom, so while this fic will have a lot of Arthur-Merlin interaction stuff, I wanted a healthy dose of Gwen (especially given the likely end pairing).</p><p>Also, just a note: I won't be doing all of the episodes. If you guys really want Arthur (or Gwen) to react to one episode in particular, I can possibly do a one-shot or extra chapter later if enough people want that episode. I tried to do all the important ones, though.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0005"><h2>5. Chapter 5</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <strong>Chapter Five: Arguments</strong>
</p><p>Merlin was let out early—just in time to fetch Arthur's dinner. He shuffled, trying to stretch his aching muscles out gently. He knew he had Gwen to thank for it—and thank her he would. Flowers, maybe? He'd seen some nice lavender just outside the citadel, and Gwen loved the color purple.</p><p>"Don't cause anymore trouble now, Merlin," the guard said, smiling. The servant grimaced back. Most were heading home for the night, the sun lowering in the sky.</p><p><em>I didn't do anything. </em>"Right," he replied, and the guard marched off. Merlin sighed and made his way back to the physician's chambers; he'd need to clean himself up before he served the prince. People who saw him shied away, noses wrinkling at his stench—not that he blamed them.</p><p>Gaius was making some kind of stew for dinner, stirring the pot as it heated over the fire. "Merlin!" he greeted, turning. "What on earth did you do to find yourself in the stocks?"</p><p>"Nothing," the servant denied, closing the door behind him. At Gaius's look, he explained, "The great prat's strange mood swings is what got me in the stocks. He hasn't been this inconsistent since he yelled at me for his bathwater being too cold and then too hot in the span of about two seconds."</p><p>"Well, better get yourself cleaned up," Gaius said. "Arthur will be expecting you."</p><p>"He better be expecting a piece of my goddamn mind," Merlin muttered to the older man's raised eyebrow. "Watch your sleeve, Gaius; you're liable to catch it on fire." His mentor turned to his attention to his robe, which indeed was rather close to the open flame, as Merlin trotted up the stairs to his room.</p><p>Scrabbling through his things, Merlin found a clean(ish) shirt and trousers. He removed his soiled clothing, tossing them away to be washed (i.e. magicked clean) later. With a flash of his eyes, the rotten vegetable matter was off his skin and hair, and he pulled on his fresh clothing.</p><p>There. Now for Arthur's dinner.</p><hr/><p>When Merlin opened the door, he was met with the sight of Gwen and Arthur at the table. They whirled at the noise, and both had odd expressions on their faces, as though he'd caught them kissing instead of sitting. With a flourish, he set the tray down forcefully between them and stalked off to pick up the place.</p><p>"So, Gwen, how has your day been?" he asked conversationally as he put Arthur's comb away. When Gwen didn't reply, he glanced at her. She was watching him with wide eyes, as though he were a stranger who had delivered the prince's dinner.</p><p>"F-fine," she squeaked. "And yours?" She paused, seeming to realize how ridiculous that sounded. On lighter skin, Merlin suspected her face would've been beet red. "I mean, I know that it was terrible. You spent all day in this heat, getting vegetables thrown at you. I didn't mean to… I'm sorry I—"</p><p>"It's okay," he interrupted, smiling at little confusedly. Why was she acting so oddly? And Arthur had been silent—the great prat. No, <em>I'm sorry I locked you up all day with such little provocation. </em>No, <em>I'm ready to listen to you now instead of punishing you. </em>Nothing.</p><p>Gwen glanced at Arthur's stack of books—probably policies he was investigating. There were a few there, though he couldn't properly make out the one on the bottom. She looked back to him, and Merlin realized both she and the prince were watching him. <em>Eerie. </em></p><p>"Do I have something on my face?" he asked, touching his cheek.</p><p>Gwen shook her head silently, her lips upturned into a forced smile. What in the gods' names was wrong with her? And Arthur?</p><p>"Only the usual," the prince managed, turning to the food in front of him. He made no move to reach for it or eat it. Gwen continued to look at him, though she glanced away when he met her eyes.</p><p>Merlin faced them, putting his hands on his hips. "Okay, what is going on? Did you two accidentally destroy something of mine? Kill a pet I didn't know I had?" He could practically feel Gwen's cheeks heat, though Arthur stared at him defiantly, hand clutched around his fork.</p><p>"You don't get to ask us things like that when <em>you </em>refuse to tell us about—about what's wrong with you!" Arthur exclaimed, brandishing the eating utensil. "And <em>lying </em>to me about a sickness in the lower town!"</p><p>"I <em>was </em>helping Gaius; you can ask him!" Merlin cried, raising his hands up. Why couldn't Arthur just drop it, like he had so many times before? Why did he choose <em>now</em>—when so much was on the line—to act like a great big nosy prat? Since when had he ever cared about Merlin's personal life?</p><p>(The warlock knew this wasn't fair of him; Arthur, after a month or so of knowing him, had helped to defend Ealdor from bandits. The prince had never not cared about Merlin's personal life—at least when there was something important at stake.)</p><p>"Arthur, stop shouting," Gwen chided, laying a hand on his arm. He reluctantly lowered the fork. "That doesn't help anyone. Why don't you sit, Merlin, and we can talk about this like rational adults." Her tone was reasonable, but had it been anyone else, Merlin would've walked away. Arthur had thrown him in the <em>stocks, </em>for no reason! He didn't deserve to have Merlin listen to him.</p><p>But since it was Gwen, Merlin sat.</p><p>"I can't believe you threw me in the stocks," Merlin muttered, crossing his arms. For a moment, he saw a flash of guilt and confusion cross the prince's face, but it was gone when he properly looked.</p><p>"You wouldn't tell me what's wrong with you, and then when I asked where you were, you <em>lied," </em>Arthur accused. Merlin's lips tightened. <em>I was gathering information about the Sluagh. I was performing magic. Does that make you happy? I'm the thing you say you hate most in the world. </em></p><p>"There was no sickness in the lower town," Gwen broke in gently. "Why did you say that, Merlin?" Her eyes were earnest and wide, and it made Merlin all the guiltier because he knew he had to lie. He'd been expecting an irritated Arthur, not an honest, understanding Gwen.</p><p>Merlin looked down, summoning his most shameful look. It wasn't difficult; he <em>was </em>shameful. He fidgeted with his hands. "I—to tell you the truth, I was at the tavern." If he'd looked up, he would've seen twin expressions of disappointment on his friends' faces. "But that's still no reason to throw me in the stocks!"</p><p>"Get out," Arthur said lowly. Merlin's eyes widened, but he made no move. "Get out!" the prince snarled, and the servant rose.</p><p>"Merlin, wait—" Gwen tried.</p><p>"No—if the great prat doesn't want me here, I won't be here. I wouldn't want to go against his <em>Majesty's </em>wishes." He bowed sarcastically. "With your leave, <em>sire."</em> And he whirled on his heel, striding from the room with the taste of bitterness on his tongue and Gwen calling him to come back in his ear.</p><hr/><p>Merlin knocked softly on Lancelot's door. When the knight responded, Merlin entered, scowling. He didn't want to bring his bad mood down on his friend, but he honestly couldn't believe Arthur! The man was a complete child.</p><p>And there was a deeper fear: <em>Have I truly become so unconvincing? </em>How had Arthur known he was lying when such lies had worked in the past? Was he simply becoming wiser? Or was it something else? He shook the thoughts off; he had bigger issues to deal with right now. Mainly, the army marching on Camelot.</p><p>"Hello, Merlin. Haven't seen you all day," Lancelot said. He was in the midst of polishing his helm, the smell of oil thick in the air. As he looked up, he seemed to notice Merlin's expression. "Has something happened?"</p><p>"Don't worry about it—Arthur's just being a prat," Merlin muttered, shutting the door behind him and sat in the chair in front of Lancelot's desk.</p><p>"So the usual, then?" Lancelot prodded.</p><p>"Yeah, something like that." Merlin leaned back. "Thank you for lying to him. I know it's not easy to be—untruthful, to our friends. Your friends." Arthur had been acting so strangely—<em>were </em>they friends anymore? Why had the lying set him off? Merlin's mind swirled with questions, though he knew now wasn't the time to be getting distracted.</p><p>"I wasn't really lying—not about the important parts." Lancelot smiled. "And don't be so hard on yourself; you lie for a good reason."</p><p>A good reason? But would Arthur really see it as such? Merlin didn't know, couldn't know, but he suspected his friend would be too incensed to look at the situation with a clear head. An angry Arthur was an irrational Arthur.</p><p>Merlin huffed. "Sometimes, I don't think Arthur's attitude towards magic will ever change, and I'll be stuck lying to him forever." Morgana had seen to that, if Uther hadn't. Funny how Arthur's family seemed intent on turning him from magic forever, each in their own ways. Something else they shared, he supposed. "And even if it does, and I tell him… He doesn't like being lied to."</p><p>"Perhaps," Lancelot said, noncommittally. "But he's a man of reason. Understanding. Compassionate, even." All true, but no one could be all of those things all of the time. Merlin himself was guilty of inconsistency, as were all people.</p><p>"Ye gods, Lance, don't tell me you're in love with the man," Merlin groaned. "Singing him praises as if you were preparing to write love poems and serenade him with your words."</p><p>Lancelot flushed but answered, "You know my sword doesn't swing that way."</p><p>Merlin rubbed his eyes. "Speaking of swords, may I see yours?" When Lancelot regarded him incredulously, the warlock's tired mind registered the words. "Not like that; you're getting as bad as Gwaine. I mean your <em>actual </em>sword. You know, the one you like to kill things with?" Merlin glanced around, and he spotted it, sheathed at the knight's feet.</p><p>"Whatever for?" Lancelot asked.</p><p>Merlin reached for it, standing to unsheathe the blade. "The Sluagh's skin is tough and difficult to break through with regular steel. Only powerful magic can do it. If I enchant your sword, you'll have no trouble."</p><p>Lancelot's brow furrowed. "But—won't that be visible? And what about the rest of the knights—the rest of the army?"</p><p>The words ate away at Merlin, but he held himself firm. <em>With the shield, Arthur may not even send them out to fight. </em>Thus reassured, he flipped the sword to examine its length: sturdy, regularly cleaned and honed, without so much as a nick.</p><p>"I'm doing all I can. And you know as well as I that you'll be in the thick of it, along with Arthur," Merlin said. He was just one man, one man against everything, it seemed at times. He was so tired he could hardly think straight, and the night was just beginning. "And the enchantment won't show if I carve the right runes in."</p><p>"But the other knights…" Lancelot trailed off, regarding Merlin's face closely. "Alright. Please, enchant it. When will you be done?"</p><p>"I'll drop it off tomorrow morning," Merlin promised. "Before training." He sheathed the sword and tucked it under one arm. "You won't even know it's there—except it'll be far better at killing things."</p><p>"Everything?" Lancelot asked. "Will I need to be more careful in training?" <em>Yes, Lancelot, I'm giving you a special sword so powerful it will slice through flesh like butter. </em>To enchant something to harm normal, living things—rather than corrupted, evil creatures—was not something Merlin could ever see himself doing.</p><p>Merlin shook his head. "Not with how I plan to enchant it. It's still a sword, just… better. And I need to figure out how to get something similar to Arthur." Excalibur, he was thinking. Hidden in a rock, deep in the forest. None, as far as he knew, had taken it.</p><p>"Can't you just take his blade and enchant it?" Lancelot asked.</p><p>"I could, but that would be redundant." He tapped his hand against his thigh. The only question was how to get Arthur to accept a magic sword without him realizing it. Perhaps a gift from some foreign dignitary? It would be easy to make one up…</p><p>"Excalibur," the knight realized. "How are you going to get it to him?"</p><p>"I'm not sure yet," Merlin admitted, "but I'm sure I'll think of something. Maybe you can help." He didn't think so, but he knew his friend liked being useful. And, well, Merlin didn't want to forget he was there again.</p><p>Lancelot's face brightened. "Anything," he said. "Don't wait too long if you think of something, yeah?" He'd thought of a few already, but nothing that Lancelot could be involved in without increasing the risk of exposure.</p><p>"I'll try," Merlin said, sighing. "But I'd best be off—the only time I can work on these things is when everyone else is asleep." Unfortunate, having three jobs. Especially when he could no longer use his work as Gaius's assistant as an excuse to hide his more illicit activities. He could already feel the weight of exhaustion clouding his mind. His joints ached from having spent most of the day in the stocks.</p><p>"The witching hour," Lancelot joked. This only made Merlin think of Morgana and Camelot's impending doom, but he decided not to burden his friend with his gloom.</p><p>"Yeah." Merlin gave him one last tired smile and left.</p><hr/><p>Enchanting Lancelot's sword didn't take nearly as long as he feared it would. He supposed it was all that practice he'd been doing, staying up late and creating runic configurations. Using a carving spell he'd found, he traced delicate runes—<em>teine </em>for warriors, <em>ohn </em>for protection from evil, <em>duir </em>for strength—into its hilt. He'd unwound the leather grip so he could hide the runes there. He wasn't entirely sure how to bind the hilt back in leather, but he was sure he could figure it out. Probably.</p><p>He refused to return to help the prince dress. If the man wanted to yell at him to <em>get out, </em>Merlin would. The insufferable prat deserved to sleep in his uncomfortable day clothes.</p><p>After carving the runes, Merlin glanced carefully to the door of his room—certain Gaius would come in any second to see his reference books strewn about the floor, the sword levitating in the air. But there was no one. He'd eaten dinner with the old man, though it had been a quiet, tense affair. Both were worried about Morgana, but Gaius still disagreed with what Merlin planned to do.</p><p>The warlock laid his hands on the blade, careful not to nick himself, and poured magic into the runes. They glowed softly, their shapes holding his power easily. He smiled and plucked it from the air, swinging it experimentally.</p><p><em>Perfect. </em>The runes would last at least a year, given the grip's protection. It would keep them from eroding and losing shape. <em>Now, to get this blasted leather back on. </em></p><p>Merlin struggled for half an hour to right the sword, knowing he wouldn't be able to go to any blacksmith to get it repaired (not in the least because it was an odd request by itself). It felt like his first time trying to thread a needle—difficult and frustrating. He tried multiple spells before the sword finally appeared as it had before.</p><p>Beaming in satisfaction, Merlin sheathed the blade. Accomplishment surged; it wasn't often he could do something so blatantly magical to help his friends. Most of the time he feared it would lead to his death faster than someone could cry "sorcerer!" He tucked the sword under his bed, but he packed the books into his satchel. It was time to begin the real work; everything up until then had been preparation, the way knights trained for ages before ever seeing real battle.</p><p>The warlock glanced out the window: the moon was high in the sky. Most everyone but the guards would be asleep, not that they were a problem. He crept from his room, his magic muffling the creak of the door. Gaius snored in the main room, and Merlin's eyes glowed as used them to see in the darkness.</p><p>Despite this advantage, he still managed to knock over a candle, which surely would've woken Gaius had his magic not caught it. <em>By the gods, that was close. </em>Plucking the candle from the air, he left it on the table and hurried from the room.</p><p>The rest of his trip went relatively smoothly, though he did stub his toe on one of the low tables in the hall, and he barely muffled his pained wheeze (his boots weren't the most protective in the world, and in fact one of his toes poked through—the very toe he'd stubbed). Walking gingerly, he managed to make the rest of the trip without incident.</p><p>There were no longer guards to keep people from finding the dragon or its cavern, which Merlin considered a serious security oversight. Instead, there was an unassuming locked door the guards passed every few minutes that led down the passage that went to the cave. It was an easy feat to place his hand on the door and unlock it, leaving no trace that it had ever been tampered with.</p><p>He slipped inside, snagging one of the torches off of the wall to light his way. The cavern seemed much as it had, though Kilgharrah's shackles regarded him silently from the bottom. A flash of guilt wracked him, but he shook it off.</p><p><em>I'll do better this time. I swear it. </em>He held the torch high as he made the long descent to the floor of the cave. Kneeling, Merlin took out the books from his satchel, keeping the torch floating above him with a simple "<em>Flotere." </em>The flames flickered across the pages like they were dancing as he opened to his reference pages.</p><p>"<em>Forćeorfe stán eac brád ond gewill," </em>he said, glancing to the page. He'd practiced often enough that his hand and mind were steady in directing the spell to begin carving out sections of the stone.</p><p>The first binding rune was <em>Gort, </em>meant to protect homes from magic of ill intent, slightly modified to define "home" as "Camelot" and "magic of ill intent" as magic originating from <em>Flæsc. </em>It had taken much research and experimentation before Merlin had been satisfied with the results.</p><p>The next, <em>Uathe, </em>for protection and defense. Sweat trickled down Merlin's forehead and neck as he urged his magic to carve the runes as precisely as possible. It was easy to mess up on something so large, and the farther off the runes were, the less powerful they would be.</p><p><em>Ohn </em>and <em>Eadhadh </em>for a strong shielding, the two largest and most outward runes. In the end, it translated to something like <em>Magic barrier shield protect Camelot from Flæsc. </em>The simpler the overall message was, the easier the runes were to combine.</p><p>Carving the massive thing took close to two hours, and near the end Merlin's legs shook and his back and neck ached, his soreness from the stocks aggravated by his standing. He panted raggedly, his magic already beginning the process of empowering such a large rune.</p><p>He sat on the hard ground, his eyes flashing. He groaned, his fatigue growing as the crutch of his magic was wrenched from underneath him. A headache began to pound behind his eyes, an incessant knocking, as though sleep was begging to be let in. The warlock struggled until he slumped, eyes closing, magic still flowing.</p><p><em>I hope I won't end up late tomorrow, </em>was his last coherent thought.</p><hr/><p>"I can't <em>believe </em>you, Arthur Pendragon!" Gwen nearly shouted as the door shut. Arthur winced at the noise. "I can't—I can't <em>believe </em>you! After everything you know he's done—you go and treat him like that! You're not the man I thought you were." She was nearly in tears after registering the hurt and fear in Merlin's eyes. "He's saved your life; he's planning to help save Camelot <em>right now, </em>and this is what you do?"</p><p>Arthur put his head in his hands. "You're right. I just—I get so <em>angry </em>when I see him and remember all the lies he's told me. I can't…" He slumped. "That's no excuse. I lost my temper, and I shouldn't have. I'm sorry."</p><p>Gwen understood, to some extent. To realize that the man she'd known for years was a sorcerer, to know he was planning something right under their noses… It was hard to believe. And it hurt her, to know he hadn't trusted her. But even then, she couldn't blame him for it, not the same way Arthur seemed to. It was like blaming a horse that had been brutalized all its life for shying from its master.</p><p>A person was more than their circumstances, but they could never escape them, like scars that lingered.</p><p>"It's not me you should be apologizing to," Gwen chided. "Especially after throwing him in the stocks. And my job isn't to make sure you're behaving, Arthur. You're not a child."</p><p>He'd grown in the time she'd known him, but sometimes the old Arthur would poke through, sharper and more brittle than his new, more self-assured counterpart.</p><p>"I know, I know," he said. "I acted terribly, but I can't understand why he <em>lies </em>about—about everything! I mean, was our friendship even real? Was anything real?" The hurt and bewilderment in his voice made her heart ache, but he had to know his doubts weren't true. Sometimes she forgot Merlin had been his first true friend.</p><p>"You read the entry as well as I," Gwen said. His tense face relaxed only minutely at the evidence that all he'd built with Merlin over the past few years was authentic. "You know it was real, that he feels warmly toward you. That's why what you've done has hurt him so much."</p><p>Arthur frowned. "He didn't seem hurt when he stormed out the door." <em>This coming from the man who was so upset he threw his friend in the stocks, </em>Gwen thought. The man's emotional range wasn't anything to be lauded, and Merlin's was better only by comparison.</p><p>"Of course he was hurt. You're his best friend—well, next to me—and you shouted at him. No one likes being shouted at, Arthur, especially when they haven't earned it. And after being thrown in the stocks." She thought for a moment. "Perhaps we should just tell him—"</p><p>"No!" Arthur protested. "We don't know the full story yet." Gwen felt they had a decent idea of the story—and it was wrong to go behind his back, especially after she'd seen the hurt on his face from how poorly Arthur had treated him. She didn't want him to look at her like that.</p><p>"I feel as though it's more a violation of privacy than anything else. Merlin doesn't deserve this," she said. She'd been ready to do it before, but… She feared losing his friendship. They knew he wasn't going to turn on them like Morgana had—shouldn't that be enough?</p><p>"I have to know, Gwen. I have to know before I talk to him." There was a sort of desperation in his voice she hadn't often heard. His eyes bore into hers, blue against brown.</p><p>Her lips tightened. It was wrong, but… She knew Merlin was private (and now she understood why). Perhaps this would be her only chance to see as side of him she would never see in person. Didn't he deserve to have people who knew him—wholly and completely? He had Gaius, but having a mentor wasn't the same as having friends.</p><p>"Alright. I'll still help you—but not tonight. Tomorrow sometime; I have things to do." Another piece at the forge, not that she'd share that with him. He wouldn't mind the fact that she was blacksmithing, but he might mind that she was struggling financially, and Gwen didn't want his handouts. She could do this herself.</p><p>"Thank you, Guinevere. I can't tell you enough how much you mean to me," Arthur said.</p><p>Gwen smiled. "And you me. Good night."</p><p>"Good night."</p><hr/><p>Merlin startled awake, cold and in the dark. His torch had gone out and fallen to the ground. <em>I'm lucky I didn't set myself on fire. </em>When he called his magic to summon a light, it flared brightly, more brightly than he'd intended—as though it were eager.</p><p>Despite his hours of sleep, he somehow felt more drained than before. But when he surveyed the ground beneath him… The rune <em>glowed </em>to his magical senses—it tasted like herbs and ozone. It was filled to the brim with his magic; he'd been unconsciously feeding it all night. <em>It must've taken hours for me to fill it to capacity. </em>He clambered to his feet, his whole body shaky and sore.</p><p>He'd never sustained that much magic before in his life: not for lightning, not for using the power of life and death, not for changing his age. Those magical feats had been over and done with almost instantly (though the age thing had been a bit longer). This had lasted almost a whole night, and it was as though he'd spent the last five or so hours sprinting at full speed. His magic, though… It felt as though he might do it all again without any ill effects, even as his body trembled.</p><p>Drained, he gathered his books up slowly and slung the satchel across his back. It seemed as though he were carrying bricks—not books—as he trekked back up to the cave's opening. <em>I hope I haven't overslept by much. This shield better be worth all the trouble. </em></p><p>If it didn't do its job… Merlin wasn't sure what he'd do. He knew he wouldn't be able to idle as Camelot fell to Morgana and her army of Sluagh. But would his other defenses be enough if this one fell? Reaching the top, he snuck back out of the passage, unlocking and re-locking the door on his way.</p><p>He sighed; the sunlight streaming through the window was watery but new. It hadn't been up for long. Poking his head out, he noticed clouds covered the sky—the air was cooler than it had been all week. <em>This would've been good weather yesterday, </em>Merlin thought crossly. His skin was tender from its time in the sun, not that he would tan. No matter how much time he spent outside, his skin stayed a stubborn, pale white.</p><p>He smelled of sweat and dirt, so he popped into the physician chambers to dress and wash up. Gaius was sitting at the table, regarding him with a raised eyebrow. Merlin stood guiltily in the doorway, his eyes wide. He'd expected the older man to be on his rounds by now.</p><p>"I understand that you aren't a child, Merlin, but I would rather this not become a regular occurrence. I fear my old heart won't be able to take another instance in which I look into your room and find it entirely deserted. This, I'm sure you know, is what took place this very morn." He calmly ate a bite of porridge as his ward continued to stand there, blinking. "Well, come in, why don't you—instead of standing there like a fool."</p><p>Merlin, sufficiently chastised, slipped in and shut the door behind him. "You know I've had things I've had to do—things that can only be done at night."</p><p>"Reckless things, you mean, that might get you killed," Gaius said, disapproval clear in his tone. "And normally you study in your room—but this morning you weren't there. Not to mention, you look like you got into a fight with the floor and lost."</p><p>The warlock scrubbed his face, trying to rouse some wakefulness. "That's not far off, actually—I spent the night in the dragon's cavern. The shield is done; I'll just have to activate it when the army arrives."</p><p>Gaius's eyebrow crept higher. "Truly? You accomplished such a feat in a week?"</p><p>Merlin shifted uncomfortably, his boot grinding into the floor. "It seems functional. But I do really need to change and wash—if I serve Arthur like this, he'd have questions." <em>And he might not believe my answers, </em>Merlin thought.</p><p>"Yes, yes—but take a bit of bread on your way out," Gaius told him, gesturing to the warm bread next to the fire. Merlin smiled as he climbed into his room. He changed and washed quickly. <em>Oh, right. The sword. </em>He'd drop it off as he went to Arthur's chambers. He tucked his books under his floorboard and took Lancelot's sword.</p><p>"And what are you going to do with that?" Gaius asked when he saw the blade.</p><p>Merlin grabbed a half of loaf and gestured over his shoulder with it. "Return it to Lancelot," he replied.</p><p>"And why do you have Lancelot's sword in the first place?" Gaius called as the warlock left the room. Merlin pretended he hadn't heard. His mentor muttered something about youth and lack of sense as the servant made his way to Lancelot's chambers.</p><p>Upon arriving, Lancelot opened the door as Merlin raised his hand to knock. Startled, Merlin froze, but the knight grinned. "Merlin!" he said. "Just the man I was looking for. Is it finished?"</p><p>The warlock glanced down the hall but saw no one. Still, he kept his voice low. "The enchantment is done." He gave the sword to the knight. "And I noticed it needed sharpening, so I did that, too." The knight's smile seemed to grow bigger, as though it was threatening to swallow his face. Not a pleasant thought.</p><p>"Thank you, Merlin." Lancelot clapped the warlock on the shoulder, belting on his blade. "Is Arthur waiting? Training is meant to begin in an hour."</p><p>"An hour?" Merlin repeated, eyes widening. The man would have his head. He hurried down to the kitchens, piling on sausages, eggs, and fruit. He grabbed a carafe of wine he would water down.</p><p>Then, he climbed the stairs as quickly as he could, almost tripping once and nearly running into three people, all of whom looked at him sympathetically. The word of his time in the stocks must've spread.</p><p>Though angry with the prince, Merlin refused to do something as petty as knock—the servant had made it known very early on that knocking for someone as irritating as Arthur would never happen. It had become almost a game to them; could Arthur convince Merlin to knock?</p><p>He shut the door behind him using his hip and placed the food on the table. He weakened the wine with a pitcher of water left over from last night and threw open the curtains, faint sunlight streaming into the room.</p><p><em>Should I even "rise and shine" him today? </em>Merlin wondered. He felt the prince didn't deserve Merlin's normal treatment, not after how he'd hurt the servant. He drew the curtains around the bed, angling his head down at the sleeping prince. "My lord, it's time to wake up." Arthur hated it when Merlin over-used his proper titles. The servant wasn't really sure why; he also complained when Merlin <em>didn't </em>address him respectfully.</p><p>"<em>Hrrggg," </em>the prince muttered, and Merlin debated tossing the rest of the water on his stupid face.</p><p>"Get up, Arthur," he said. "Or else you'll be late—which is something of a sin, apparently. Perhaps you should lock yourself up in the stocks." This last part was said somewhat bitterly, but if Arthur noticed, he didn't let on.</p><p>"What the hell are you on about?" the prince grumbled, sitting up reluctantly. He froze upon seeing Merlin there—surprise, maybe, that he was on time. Irritation overcame his face before it shut down, like a snuffed candle.</p><p>"Nothing, <em>sire," </em>the servant said, bowing low. "Your breakfast awaits, <em>my lord. </em>It grows cold in your absence."</p><p>The annoyance came back to Arthur's expression as he swung out of bed, gesturing for Merlin to get his slippers. This Merlin did with mock haste, depositing them in front of the great prat's feet with a flourish.</p><p>"I hope you find them <em>soft </em>and <em>comfortable, </em>sire," he said. <em>I hope you trip and fall on your ass, </em>he added in his head.</p><p>Arthur squinted at him before he stood, moving to the table. He continued to peek at Merlin from the corner of his eye as he began eating. The servant was reminded of the day prior, where he and Gwen hadn't been able to keep their eyes off him.</p><p><em>What the hell is going on? </em>But now wasn't the time to figure it out. He might have finished the shield, but his work wasn't yet over. Puttering slowly about the room, he forced down his exhaustion, trying to exude his normal peppiness—like some under-trained, overexcited puppy, Arthur often said.</p><p><em>I'm not a dog for your entertainment, </em>Merlin thought sourly.</p><p>The servant did his usual chores: making the bed, airing the room, changing the chamber pot, dusting, sweeping, arranging anything that was out of place. He could feel the prince's gaze on his back all the while, as though something unseen clung to him.</p><p>The prince hardly said two words to him when Merlin helped him into his clothes and armor, simply holding out his arms to be dressed. The servant thought about doing something deliberately wrong just to embarrass him, but the risk that he'd be thrown into the stocks again was too high.</p><p>"—deaf as well as dumb?" Arthur snapped. Merlin glanced up; the prince was holding out his hand expectantly. "My sword?" he prompted.</p><p>"Of course, my lord," the servant said smoothly, reaching round to fetch it. <em>Should bloody well let you keep this one, too. No mystical sword for you—just plain steel. See if I care when you die. </em>He presented it to his master, dipping his head.</p><p>"I'm itching to smack you," Arthur murmured. "Just so you know." He snatched the sword and buckled it to his belt.</p><p>"I'm at my lordship's beck and call," Merlin replied demurely. "If my prince deems me worthy of smacking with his own hand, it would be an honor to receive."</p><p>"Don't you think you're laying it on a bit thick, Merlin?" Arthur demanded.</p><p>"My devotion to thee, my lord, cannot be denied or restrained. If thou were to command that I must fall upon a blade to please you, I would do so unhesitatingly and without restraint," Merlin answered, miming being stabbed. This was the most fun he'd had in days, and it felt like a mild revenge for what Arthur had done to him.</p><p>"Alright! Stop—I… regret throwing you in the stocks. And—" The prince paused, as though struggling to choke out the words. "Throwing you out of my chambers. You did not deserve such treatment."</p><p>A piss-poor apology if Merlin had ever heard one. Regret? How about—<em>hey, sorry, one of the only friends I have, if I treated you badly these past few days. Would you like some time off? </em>But only the Arthur in his daydreams was so kind.</p><p>"I deserve whatever treatment my lord judges to be fair and honorable," Merlin said, just to see the look of horror on his face. The prince opened his mouth, but the servant continued. "And if 'fair' and 'honorable' include tossing his hard-working servant into the stocks, mayhaps it's time I find a new lord."</p><p>Arthur's face grew pinched. "You wouldn't dare," he said. The words sounded like a jest, but his tone was off, as awkward as his expression. As though he'd lost the art of bantering with Merlin in the day his servant had been in the stocks.</p><p>
  <em>Ridiculous man can't last a full twenty-four hours without me. </em>
</p><p>"This regent business has made you all to serious, Arthur," Merlin answered, rolling his eyes. "And you really are going to be late if you dally any longer."</p><p>"<em>I'm </em>not the one dallying," the prince growled, but he marched out of his chambers nonetheless, Merlin trailing after.</p><p>The training grounds were filled with knights already, who stood to attention as the prince arrived. Arthur nodded his approval, and Merlin wandered off to make sure everything was in order. He didn't really understand why <em>he </em>had to do the work of about ten servants, but at least the prince wasn't irrationally angry with him anymore.</p><p>Not that this behavior was any less strange. Even as he spoke to the knights, Arthur continued to peer at him from the corner of his eye. He trailed off a couple times, watching as Merlin sharpened a sword. <em>Why is he acting like such a loon? </em>Perhaps it was some kind of lingering concussion. The gods knew he'd had enough to kill any normal man—one with a thinner skull and smaller head, anyway.</p><p>The servant welcomed these thoughts, as this dilemma of Arthur kept them from turning darker, even as the looming threat of Morgana never really left. Though he was certain he wouldn't be able to <em>fix </em>whatever crisis Arthur was going through, it was a welcome distraction, if only briefly.</p><p>Soon, Merlin found himself drifting forward, sleep tugging seductively on his eyes. <em>Perhaps just a short nap—they'll never know…</em></p><p>"Not falling asleep there, are you Merlin?" a voice asked. The servant startled awake, the blade slipping from his grasp and almost impaling his foot. He looked up to see Gwaine, watching the exchange with equal parts confusion, concern, and amusement.</p><p>"Er, no," Merlin denied groggily. He looked behind Gwaine: most everyone else was sparring, probably enjoying how cool it was compared with yesterday. At least Arthur not baking in his armor meant he would be less grumpy.</p><p>"Don't hurt yourself there, mate," the knight said. "I know sleepiness and pointy objects don't mix well from experience."</p><p>The servant delicately slid the sword away from his body, leaving it in the grass. "I'll keep that in mind," he said.</p><p>Gwaine side-eyed him, quirking his eyebrow. "Do you know what you've done to get the princess's petticoat in a twist?" he asked. "He keeps looking over. Didn't even come to tell you off for sleeping on the job."</p><p>"I wasn't sleeping!" Merlin denied again. "I was just… resting my eyes. It's very different from sleeping by a large margin. And no, I don't know what's wrong with him."</p><p>"Hm." Gwaine twirled his sword idly. "You haven't started courting anyone, have you?"</p><p>Bewildered, Merlin tilted his head. <em>The hell does he think he's playing at? </em>Why was it that whenever he was acting "oddly," everyone assumed he had a partner? Or, apparently, when <em>Arthur </em>was acting oddly. "Definitely not. I think I would've noticed if I had. Why are you asking?"</p><p>"Never you mind," Gwaine said. <em>Um, I think I do mind. </em>"He didn't find out you spit in his food, did he?"</p><p>"I don't spit in his food, Gwaine." Merlin stood, brushing grass from his trousers. He did sometimes feed the prince food that had fallen on the floor, but what Arthur didn't know probably wouldn't kill him.</p><p>"Good—best to deny it even to those that know, eh?" Gwaine winked, clapping the servant on the shoulder. Merlin grinned. "Anyway, just wanted to make sure everything was good between you two."</p><p>The unsaid, <em>Or we'll have words, </em>warmed Merlin from the inside-out, like he'd had a mug of steaming cider. He was tempted to tell the knight about the stocks, but he didn't need to be causing any trouble for his friend. "You know Arthur." He shrugged. "Bit of a prat, but mostly forgivable."</p><p>"It's that 'mostly' part you have to watch out for, my friend," Gwaine said. "He's better than these nobles—swords stuck up their asses, the lot of them—but that doesn't mean he's above making mistakes." Didn't Merlin know it.</p><p>"He hasn't done anything," Merlin lied. "But I appreciate it. I don't know why he's acting so strangely."</p><p>"Good," Gwaine said, punching his arm lightly. "I best get back before the princess makes me work extra. You be sure to come to me if that changes, alright mate?"</p><p>"Of course," Merlin lied again. He wouldn't put Gwaine in the middle of him and Arthur if he could help it. In fact, he would do his best to keep the knight out of as much danger as possible. He itched to ask for the man's sword, just to enchant it. To make sure this man—who called Merlin friend—would stay alive in this upcoming fight.</p><p><em>I won't let you die, my friend. I won't let anyone else die—not if I can help it. </em>Merlin watched Gwaine go back into training, brows furrowed, mouth a hard line.</p><hr/><p><em>To Prince Arthur Pendragon… </em>Merlin frowned, the feathery end of the quill touching his nose. It didn't seem flowery enough. Whenever he read Arthur's letters from other nobles, the salutation seemed to drag on forever as they did their best to list all of the prince's titles.</p><p><em>To Crown Prince Arthur Pendragon, Current Regent of Camelot… </em>That was better. <em>Upon your taking up of this great burden… </em>No. That sounded awkward. <em>Since your uplift in station to Regent of Camelot… </em>That wasn't right either. A noble would probably have more tact than to imply Uther's infirmity was a positive thing, even indirectly.</p><p>Merlin rubbed his eyes. Was he cursed to never get a full night's rest? How was he going to be of any use against Morgana if he couldn't even write a damn letter? <em>I am saddened to hear the news of your Regency—though of course I know you to be a great Crown Prince, and I am certain you will make an equal Regent to the Citizens of Camelot. </em>There, that seemed to flow. <em>No, I am saddened for King Uther, who has been an excellent Ruler over the Great Kingdom of Camelot for twenty years now. I pray for his swift recovery. </em>And that seemed flowery enough. And the capitalization was a nice touch, Merlin thought. Nobles thought <em>everything </em>was important, and thus they capitalized <em>everything. </em>Made it a pain to read.</p><p><em>However, I thought such an important event could not go unnoticed. Although I acknowledge that this is not a celebratory time, I ask that you accept the gift I have included nonetheless. I regret that I could not see you in person, my Prince</em>—the line made Merlin want to barf—<em>but pressing matters of estate have made this impossible. </em></p><p><em>My best blacksmith forged this sword, many years ago. </em>Not entirely true, but Merlin didn't mind elevating Tom in this way. The man hadn't deserved what he'd gotten. <em>I myself dared not touch it for its majesty; I have known from the very beginning that it was made for Royalty. </em>Again, made for Arthur, but whatever.</p><p><em>With the pressing news of your Regency—and Morgana to the border—I could not in good conscious keep it for myself. God has made it clear that He wishes for you to have it, and I am but His humble servant. </em>Many of the nobility had converted, something Uther had no issue with. To declare oneself a pagan was to declare oneself a sorcerer. The Triple Goddess was only one of many, after all (though She championed magic).</p><p>
  <em>And so I have shipped it to you, my Lord, with the hope that it will serve you well. Please accept my apologies that I could not be there in person. I wish you and his Highness nothing but the best of health. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>Your Loyal Servant,</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Lord Bodrick</em>
</p><p>It would need some work, but Merlin would have to wait, anyway. He had to account for the time it would've taken had this all been real, which would've been at least two weeks. Barely enough time to get it to Arthur, but Merlin would do what he could.</p><p>Not to mention, he needed to find some sort of courtier. He might be able to pull it off himself, if he had a disguise… But he really only had the old-man disguise, and he didn't want to spend any extra time and energy learning new spells. <em>Perhaps I can call in a friend…</em></p><p>Regardless, Excalibur would be in Arthur's hands when the Sluagh came. The largest issue, aside from finding a fake courtier, was Arthur meeting Bodrick in person. Fortunately, the elderly lord was known for his poor memory—and slow decent in senility. Merlin felt bad using him so, but Bodrick <em>was </em>loyal. Surely he'd want his prince to survive the army marching on Camelot.</p><p>Now all that was left was to retrieve the sword, finalize the letter, find a fake courtier, figure out how to make it look authentic… Merlin sighed, looking at his bed. A little less than three weeks left—it could wait. Standing from the floor, he stretched his stiff muscles.</p><p>As he tucked the draft of the letter under his floorboard, he glanced around. Where had his journal gone? It had his notes on the Sluagh—among other, highly sensitive information. Down on his knees, he peered inside his hidey-hole thouroughly. Not there.</p><p>He ran a hand through his hair and peeked under his bed. Nothing but cobwebs and dust (ye gods, he needed to clean). Beneath his blanket? No. He flung the offending cloth aside, combing his room from top to bottom. It wasn't in his cupboards or revealed when he picked his clothing up from the floor.</p><p><em>Where is it? </em>Panic made his fingers tingle and his heart race, as though he'd overdosed on an energy-restoring draught. He began looking in increasingly unlikely places, like in the drawers of his rickety nightstand or underneath it, though it was too high to conceal the diary. <em>Where is it? </em>He even flipped his mattress up, revealing nothing.</p><p>"Calm down," he told himself aloud. His room somehow looked messier than it had before. <em>I probably left it in the goblin room or in the dragon's cave. </em>He would have to check tomorrow night.</p><p>He did his best to push these things from his mind as he changed into his nightclothes and crawled into bed, snuffing the candles with a flash of his eyes. Forcing himself to breathe deeply, he pointedly didn't think about all of the information in the diary: information that could get him executed, banished, tortured.</p><p>No. He didn't think about it.</p><hr/><p>The next day, Gwen snuck into Arthur's chambers during the evening. She'd seen the light in Merlin's window; he'd gone home for the night. A few months ago, she might've cared for the talk this would generate, but now she hardly paid attention to who saw her (though she did do her best not to be seen). Most knew that Arthur had feelings for her—and many nobles assumed she was his mistress, a passing infatuation. She did her best not to care, for she <em>wasn't </em>his mistress, and she <em>wasn't </em>a passing infatuation.</p><p>"Ah, Guinevere," he greeted, looking up from the table, where he seemed again to be working on paperwork. Seeing her gaze, he explained, "Estimates for the number of soldiers we might raise in three weeks' time. And dispatches for more knights, to see if they might be able to catch a better wind of Morgana's plans."</p><p>"Has Gaius found anything on the Sluagh?" Gwen asked, sliding into the seat next to him. She tried to ignore their closeness.</p><p>"Yes, though I can't be sure the information comes from him and not Merlin," Arthur said, rubbing his temple. "They're from another world, apparently. Like the Faeland, only worse. He's written me a full report—and he gave one verbally, so I might ask questions. Apparently they are resistant to steel and most normal weapons, as well as weak and mediocre magicks. Only powerful magic is said to be able to defeat them."</p><p>Gwen knew normally he might speak to Merlin about this, not her. Despite their similarity in class, Merlin was better than her at thinking strategically (though, now that she was thinking about it, she wondered if it came from simple practice). "Did Merlin seem confident in the diary when he wrote of a plan?"</p><p>"Yes, but it's <em>Merlin," </em>Arthur said, frustrated. His hand clenched. "Even assuming he hasn't been lying to me about <em>everything—" </em>Gwen had to stop herself from interrupting, though she frowned at his words—"I have no baseline for his abilities."</p><p>"Then wouldn't it be better for you to tell him?" she asked gently. "You could simply… ask. You would be able to coordinate your attacks."</p><p>"Gwen, I understand that you still—put your faith in him. But I <em>can't. </em>He has lied to me, his prince, many times over." He held up his hand to forestall her protests. "I suppose I can understand why, and I appreciate what he's done, but… I can't depend on him to tell me the whole truth. Having written his deepest secret in here, however…" He held up the diary. "He has lied to me, but I know he has not lied in this."</p><p>"I think the Merlin we know is the same as the one in there," Gwen said, gesturing to the book. "He wouldn't lie to us if he didn't have to. It's clear—even through the risk in writing it—that he wants to tell the truth. His fear is simply greater than his faith." His faith in them, his faith in Arthur. His faith (or lack thereof) in Uther. Not that she could blame him for that last one.</p><p>"I have to know," Arthur said. "I have to know the truth before I can speak with him about this." His eyes shone brightly even in the candlelight, alight with determination and fervor.</p><p>"What? As some kind of test?" Gwen demanded. This was already a type of betrayal—but to <em>test </em>him? That seemed worse. "To see if he tells you the truth?"</p><p>"Yes," he admitted, though he bore no trace of regret or remorse. His face was colder than his father's. "I will test him once I know the truth of what he's done."</p><p>Gwen knew Merlin would pass. She knew the goodness in his heart (or hoped she did), still bright and burning even after all the hatred and terror he'd experienced. She sighed. "Fine. Shall we start?"</p><p>Arthur nodded, opening the book. "This is where I was—you can go back and read the other entries later, if you like." A bit high-handed, but Gwen could understand his eagerness to press forward.</p><p>"Alright. Shall you read, or shall I?" she asked, hesitant to volunteer. Her reading wouldn't be up to par with his, and she was surprised he hadn't asked if she <em>could </em>read. Perhaps he had simply assumed, which was both irritating and flattering.</p><p>"I can," Arthur said, already leaning over the book. He cleared his throat before beginning:</p><p>
  <em>I fear I have made a mistake—though perhaps I have avoided a greater one. Uther is a tyrant, one who has hunted my kind for years, forcing me into hiding for fear of my life. And yet… I have saved him before. It tears at me, but I don't do it for him. Arthur is not yet ready to become king, and beyond that… It would hurt him to lose his remaining parent.</em>
</p><p>"What do you think he's talking about? 'Saved him before'?" Gwen asked. Arthur glanced at her, face tightening.</p><p>"Edwin Murien—the physician who claimed he could 'cure all ills'—he enchanted my father to make him sick. Merlin broke the enchantment, basically," he replied. Gwen knew the warlock had obviously helped Camelot, but to save the king who persecuted his kind? Then again—he'd admitted to his reasons. It seemed Arthur was at the forefront of his mind in these encounters.</p><p>
  <em>Gwen's father—Tom—was caught consorting with a sorcerer, Tauren. He did so unknowingly, but it mattered not to Uther. The blacksmith managed to escape the cells only to be slaughtered by the guards. Gwen grieves mightily, and my heart aches for her. </em>
</p><p>Arthur read on quickly, though this didn't stop the twinge of loss and longing in Gwen's heart. It was better now that she had her brother, but she wished desperately that Uther hadn't killed her father (perhaps indirectly, but it had still been his fault).</p><p>
  <em>Morgana was beside herself—and when she brought it up with the king, he locked her up for impertinence. Tauren went back to Gwen's house and threatened her, wanting what Tom had been working on (a stone to turn lead to gold). He planned to use the gold to bribe the guards and kill the king.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Morgana went to deliver the stone to Tauren, and she asked to be let in on the scheme. I didn't know what to do—allow the tyrant to die, or save Arthur's father? I asked Gwen if she would kill Uther if she had the chance. She said no—and if she, whose own father was killed by him—can let go of her anger enough to say such things… I must be as good as her. </em>
</p><p>Arthur stopped. "She really… even then…" Gwen knew his mind must have been whirling. Hers was no different; the room seemed to be spinning. She'd been too caught up in her own grief to notice the strangeness of Merlin's question (she barely remembered now), or Morgana's vicious anger.</p><p>"She's always been vengeful," Gwen said. "And clearly Merlin stopped it. I don't think she was against Camelot—not yet, anyway. Just Uther." This seemed to bring no comfort to Arthur, who stared blankly at the page.</p><p>
  <em>I did my best to stop Tauren, but it was Morgana herself who dealt the killing blow to the sorcerer. I suppose she had a change of heart—or perhaps she was playing him all along (though this I doubt; she seemed sincere enough).</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Regardless, I have let the tyrant live. For good or for ill. </em>
</p><p>Gwen let out a sigh of relief, though she'd known the king hadn't died at Morgana's hand. "See? She hadn't turned. She was still good, then—still on the side of Camelot."</p><p>"Perhaps," Arthur said. "But if she couldn't see the harm killing the king would do to the people… Merlin seemed to be less conflicted, though he insists on calling my father a tyrant."</p><p>Gwen didn't point that was exactly what Uther was: a tyrant who hunted down anyone he perceived to be in his way. She knew Arthur had to work this out for himself; she couldn't think for him. He needed to reconcile the contradicting ideas that a man who could love him as a parent could also hate—hate so whole-heartedly as to erase hundreds, if not thousands, of lives.</p><p>"Merlin's a good man," she said eventually.</p><p>"It was you who convinced him," Arthur replied, searching her eyes. The blue, she noticed, was like a lake—deceptively shallow, hidden depths beneath. "It appears you've helped many confront difficult decisions. Your heart has always helped steer us in the right direction."</p><p>Her cheeks warmed at the blatant praise, and she hoped her darker skin and the dimness of the light would conceal it. "He would've come to that conclusion anyway—and the same goes for anything I've helped you with. I only help you reach it faster, perhaps."</p><p>He grunted disbelievingly, but didn't try to convince her further. Instead, he began the next entry.</p><p>
  <em>This has been a tiring week, reader. Arthur was bitten by a questing beast—something with the body of a leopard, feet of a hart, and head of a snake. And a very venomous snake at that; there is no cure for its bite. It spelled Arthur's death.</em>
</p><p>"He has a very blunt way of putting these things, sometimes," Arthur remarked, pursing his lips. Gwen wanted to laugh, though she supposed it might be disconcerting to know for certain how many times he'd been close to death.</p><p>
  <em>And so, I went to the dragon for aid. He's been helpful in giving me hints in the past—his advice is how I knew about defeating the afnac. When I asked him, he said that I must go the Isle of the Blessed. There, the power of life and death might be used to save Arthur—someone else dies so that he may live. </em>
</p><p>"The dragon?" Gwen asked. "What's he talking about?" Or, well, writing about, but that didn't sound quite right.</p><p>"The dragon beneath Camelot—apparently he began speaking to it, his first week here. He went to it for advice periodically," Arthur replied. He rubbed his face, as though tired.</p><p>Gwen blinked. "He… <em>spoke </em>to it? Is this the same dragon that attacked Camelot?" And if it was… What did that mean? She couldn't wrap her head around it. Had the dragon's escape really been a release? Had Merlin been naïve enough to do that? Or someone else?</p><p>"Unless there's another dragon I don't know about running around, yes," Arthur said. "My father believes the one I killed was the last." He grimaced before continuing.</p><p>
  <em>And having tried every other avenue, I went. The prince is a prat, but I know he will be a better king than Uther; already he is more just and caring. And beyond that, he's my friend. I couldn't simply let him die, not after everything that's happened. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>At the Isle, I encountered Nimueh. She is—or was—apparently a High Priestess, which meant she could wield life and death. I told her that I wanted to trade my life for Arthur's—I would die in his place. She agreed, and gave me water to give to Arthur to heal him.</em>
</p><p>Arthur stopped, his eyes widening. "I can't believe that idiot!" he muttered. Gwen could, though she never would've suspected the magic aspect of it before. Merlin was one of the most self-sacrificing people she knew, especially when it came to Arthur.</p><p>"You two had already grown close," Gwen said. "It makes sense that he wanted to save you."</p><p>"He shouldn't have done it. Using magic to save my life by trading his own—it sounds dark, Gwen. Something that shouldn't be touched. No one should wield that sort of power." This, she agreed with. The idea of someone being able to choose who lived and who died… It smacked of corruption, of absolute power.</p><p>"It's not as if Merlin was using it himself—or using it to harm Camelot. He wanted to save you," Gwen pointed out. "That's noble, even considering the potential abuse for this type of magic."</p><p>"I suppose. But he went to Nimueh to do it." At her confusion, he continued, "She's the one who put the afnac in the water and poisoned Merlin."</p><p>Wow. Gwen really did need to read what she'd missed. Just how many things had Merlin been involved in? "I think that just shows how desperate he was to help you," she said. "He wouldn't have gone to her unless he was convinced you would really die."</p><p>Arthur frowned but didn't contradict her.</p><p>
  <em>The water did as she said, but I didn't die. My mother came, deathly ill, the taint of magic upon her, and I knew that Nimueh had chosen not to take my life but my mother's.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>I confronted the dragon. He knew Nimueh wouldn't have traded my life, and he didn't deny this. And for his betrayal, I vowed that he would never see the light of day again. He roared at me in anger, and used his fire against me. I blocked it with a shield, and left. </em>
</p><p>"But why wouldn't she?" Gwen leaned forward to read over the words. "Why did she decide to take the life of Hunith?" Arthur frowned, tapping the page.</p><p>"Perhaps she couldn't control the magic—or maybe she simply wanted Merlin to suffer for his part in stopping her earlier plans. But somehow the dragon knew that she wouldn't take his life. Maybe it knew her, from before?"</p><p>"Maybe," she said. Gwen was relieved, at least, that this made it seem more unlikely that Merlin had been the one to release the dragon. She didn't know what she would do if that had been the case. Likely as not, some crazy sorcerer had—or it had simply escaped.</p><p>
  <em>I set off again for the Isle, intent on forcing Nimueh to take my life and spare my mother's. Except Gaius had gone ahead of me, trying to sacrifice his life for mine. When I arrived, he was insensible on the ground, Nimueh standing over him.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Rage rose in me, rage like I have rarely known. She hadn't honored our bargain, first trying to take my mother and then Gaius, the only father I have ever known. We fought there, on that sacred Isle, and she scorched me with flame. I won in the end, and, so desperate to save Gaius, something tugged within me to make the trade. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>And so I did: I traded Nimueh for Gaius, and my mentor was suddenly alive, there in my arms. My mother is recovered, and though my chest pains me, I am happier to serve Arthur than I ever have been before. </em>
</p><p>"And that's the end," Arthur said as Gwen looked over his shoulder at the words. She couldn't believe it—Merlin, their sweet Merlin, had used this power? She supposed he <em>had</em> used it to save Gaius, but…</p><p>He sounded like a powerful sorcerer. Somehow, she'd been picturing someone with enough magical power to help out when needed, not someone with enough magical power to control life and death. It sent a shiver down her spine, but he was a better candidate for wielding it than most anyone else she knew. She could tell Arthur felt the same; he'd gone pale.</p><p>"All that power…" he murmured.</p><p>"And he used it to save you—and his mother, and Gaius," Gwen assured. "He's a good man."</p><p>"Even good men can be corrupted," Arthur said, voice troubled. "How am I to know that he will never abuse this power for his personal gain—against Camelot? How can I check something like that?"</p><p>Gwen wanted to argue back that the same could be said for <em>his </em>power; royalty was nearly as unchecked as magic, and nobles weren't exactly hunted down and killed. She knew this would only make him defensive, though, no matter the logic of it. "Trust, Arthur," she finally said. "His personal gain is Camelot's gain. He has only your interests—and your people's interests—at heart. You can see that here."</p><p>"Nothing has contradicted that, but I fear it's only a matter of time. That much power, all of it hiding in the shadows… It's bound to rot and fester," he said. "Like Morgana's. She was one of the best people I knew, and now—" He didn't finish, the pain fresh on his face. He smoothed the page in front of him as if to avoid crumpling it—a controlled, jerky motion.</p><p>"Merlin is not Morgana," Gwen said firmly. "The only thing they share is magic, and it's clear that Merlin's relationship with his is far different. He's had it since he was <em>born; </em>don't you think he would've gone bad long before now?" The doubt in his face increased, but he didn't look entirely convinced.</p><p>"I can't put the fate of my kingdom into what I <em>think; </em>I must <em>know," </em>he said. "For certain." She could understand his perspective: his entire life had been spent on certainty, knowledge, and learning—a far different one than hers. But she wished he would have more faith in their friend.</p><p>"Isn't that what we're doing?" Gwen gestured to the diary, and Arthur sighed.</p><p>"I suppose. Let's continue."</p><p><em>I can't believe him! After everything we've done—everything </em>I've <em>done—the great prat still refuses to take my word over a complete stranger's, even when that stranger is so shady he could block out the bloody sun!</em></p><p>"This is more like the ones I read before," Arthur muttered. "He rants about me constantly—even though <em>he's </em>the one who's been lying since we met!"</p><p>"You did treat him rather poorly in the beginning," Gwen said, trying to be delicate. "Rather like you treated him yesterday." A low blow, perhaps, but nothing less than he deserved. Merlin shouldn't have been thrown into the stocks; she hadn't had to read his journal to know that.</p><p>
  <em>I realize I'm perhaps not being very clear. It starts with a tomb beneath the castle—recently discovered—that housed the powerful sorcerer Cornelius Sigan. He was known as the most powerful sorcerer to have every lived, capable of making blood rain from the sky. </em>
</p><p>"Oh," Gwen said. "I remember that. The gargoyles came to life, didn't they?"</p><p>Arthur grimaced, squirming in his seat. "Among other things, yes." She wondered what that meant. Just how poorly had he treated Merlin for the servant to have been so upset with him?</p><p>
  <em>Arthur, his knights, myself, and a few others went hunting (because Arthur can never leave innocent wildlife alone—the castle's stores aren't even low). I used my magic to throw a spear at the boar, which was about to kill the blasted prince. And this Cedric fellow—a man who I had never met before—takes the credit! Everything went down hill from there: I somehow passed out in the stables, I was doing everything wrong, and Arthur took this Cedric fellow into his employ. </em>
</p><p>"You <em>fired </em>him?" Gwen gasped. "I can't believe you!"</p><p>"Well, it's not like I knew it was <em>Merlin </em>who'd saved my life!" Arthur defended. "And the man was acting like a lunatic! He fell asleep in the stables, he accused Cedric of being <em>possessed</em>. I thought he was hallucinating from lack of sleep! So I told him to take a few days off—<em>temporarily." </em></p><p>"And hired a man you hardly knew?" Gwen cried.</p><p>"That's what happened with Merlin! I thought it was an apt reward for his service," Arthur replied. And that was a fair point, she supposed, but it must've hurt Merlin for his best friend to believe someone else over him.</p><p>
  <em>Well, that night, someone (Cedric) broke into the tomb, looking for riches, and managed to release the soul of Sigan. It possessed him. When I tried to tell Arthur about it, the prince laughed me off! I should think after Valiant, and the fact that I saved his worthless life when we first met merits me a little more credibility.</em>
</p><p>"He warned you of Valiant?" Gwen asked. She had a dim recollection of a knight who'd been using some kind of enchanted shield to cheat in one of the tournaments, though it had happened years ago.</p><p>"Yes." Arthur frowned, but she could see the guilt in his eye.</p><p>
  <em>Anyway, Sigan woke the gargoyles and bade them to attack the citadel. Being made of stone meant the knights' swords were of little use. I did my best to find a solution to the issue, but neither Gaius nor his books held the answers. In the end, I was forced to return to Kilgharrah. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>He was sly in manner; he bargained for my help, as I suspected he would. I have vowed to free him—eventually—for his aid. I see fire in his eyes, a fire that burns so hot I fear it will destroy everything. He gave me a spell to trap Sigan back whence he came—a crystalline jewel. </em>
</p><p>Arthur and Gwen looked at each other, and Gwen covered her mouth with one hand. "You don't think he…" She trailed off. She couldn't finish. Had Merlin released the dragon on Camelot? But then, what else could he have done? He couldn't have very well let Sigan take over; that wouldn't have been any better.</p><p>"He better not have," the prince said. His face could've passed for one of the gargoyle's outside his window. His brows hung low over dark eyes. "I won't forgive him if he was the one that released that damned beast."</p><p>"What else was he to do?" Gwen cried. "Sigan would've destroyed the city just as easily as the dragon did." <em>Perhaps faster, </em>she added silently. She shuddered to think of how much more of a tyrant he would've been compared to Uther.</p><p>"It wasn't his choice to make!" Arthur trembled. "He had no right to make any of these choices about Camelot."</p><p>"There was no one else to make them! Should he have stood back and allowed his home to be destroyed?" Gwen demanded. Arthur's feelings of hurt and anger were obscuring the logic of the situation. "Don't be ridiculous, Arthur. He did the best he could. You should be thanking him for getting rid of Sigan, not agonizing over what he might've done."</p><p>"We'll find out later whether he did the best he could," Arthur said.</p><p>
  <em>I confronted Sigan in the courtyard and defeated him. Arthur didn't even properly apologize, but I suppose keeping me on is good enough, coming from him. </em>
</p><p>"And you didn't apologize?" Gwen asked. "It's no wonder he starts off half his entries with rants about you, then." Perhaps her words were harsh, but they were no harsher than how Arthur had treated his friend. Didn't he understand the power of his station? Didn't he understand that Merlin didn't have that same power? Though he was far from helpless—and Gwen wouldn't stand being called helpless either—he didn't control an entire kingdom like Arthur did.</p><p>"I told you: his claims were insane. I wasn't trying to anger him, but I couldn't just let him go around accusing people of being possessed!"</p><p>"Even when he's right?" Arthur stayed silent after that, and Gwen knew her point was too logical, too irrefutable, for him to dismiss. Like corruption uncovered, his honor wouldn't allow him to ignore it. "You can't just pick and choose what you believe when it comes to him," she said. "You can't only listen to him when he agrees with you—"</p><p>"I don't!" Arthur protested. "Of course I've listened to him, even when I think he's wrong. And oftentimes he <em>has </em>turned out to be right—"</p><p>"No, listen to <em>me.</em> You may not mean to do it, Arthur, but a friendship must go two ways. You can't ignore him when it suits you, or throw him in the stocks when he hasn't done anything." And, though this was all from Merlin's perspective, it seemed as though their friendship was perhaps more one-sided than she'd thought.</p><p>"He's lied to me! My first—and for a while, only—friend has <em>lied </em>to me! Don't tell me he's done <em>nothing!" </em>His chest heaved, and his arms shook from where he'd slammed his hands into the table. Gwen sat in silence, simply looking at him. Had she gone too far in what she'd said? Or was he overreacting? <em>He's clearly hurt, </em>she thought as he withdrew his hands from the table. When he spoke again, his tone was more subdued. "It's getting late. Why don't you go home? We can resume this tomorrow."</p><p>Gwen nodded hesitantly, standing. She couldn't leave with all that awkwardness between them. "Alright. I—I'm sorry. I can understand why Merlin did what he did, but he hurt you regardless. I shouldn't have said what I said."</p><p>Arthur smiled up at her tiredly, and she knew he didn't hold a grudge against her. Theirs had been a simple argument, not a friendship-shattering fight.</p><p>"I'm sorry too," he said. "For shouting. Good night, Gwen."</p><p>"Good night," she replied, and left.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>There will be more focus on the reading in later chapters. Sorry there's no Arthur POV this time, just Gwen and Merlin (there will be some Arthur next chapter and lots later). Thanks for the kudos/bookmarks/comments; they mean a lot to me! (And I can't believe we're close-ish to 200 kudos) Questions: Are you liking Merlin's and Gwen's POVs? What did you think of Arthur and Gwen's conversation over the entries? How were the interactions between Arthur and Merlin? Stay safe out there :)</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0006"><h2>6. Chapter 6</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <strong>Chapter Six: The Dragon</strong>
</p><p>Arthur could see the allure of secrets—and the necessity. It became almost a game for him and Gwen: avoiding Merlin's suspicious looks, sneaking in when he wasn't watching. Still, despite the excitement, the prince felt somewhat hypocritical, and these two emotions warred within him.</p><p>Worry over the Sluagh also plagued him. After reading the entries, he was reassured to know that Merlin had helped to deal with magical plots before, though he didn't like the independent agency—and sheer power—they signified. Whatever Gwen said, the choices Merlin had made <em>hadn't </em>been his to make.</p><p>His sister and her army were a constant, looming presence, a source of infinite dread. He felt it pressing on him as he tried to sleep, as he woke up, like a band around his diaphragm, stopping him from breathing in or out completely. He knew Merlin felt it, too; his servant looked worse than he felt.</p><p>He did his best to allay the man's suspicions as well.</p><p>"No, really, you've been looking at me strangely for days now. What is it?" Merlin set down the clothing he'd been picking up and put his hands on his hips, cocking his head. "And don't say it's nothing; it's clearly <em>something."</em></p><p>There was still a sort of heaviness between them, an awkwardness born of misunderstanding and anger, though everything had mostly gone back to normal (or as normal as Arthur could bear; he still wanted to rage whenever he knew the man was lying to him).</p><p>Arthur set down his fork. "You have the fragile ego of a <em>girl, </em>Merlin, thinking I've been looking at you more often. Will you swoon if I fetch you flowers?" An attack on his masculinity was sure to get a rise—and change the topic adequately.</p><p>"If you fetched me flowers, I'd probably drop dead of shock," the servant said, snorting. "And don't let Gwen hear you say things like that—she'll have your head faster than you can say 'I didn't mean it.'" That, at least, was probably true. "But you still haven't given me a reason."</p><p>Damn. He was like a dog with a bone—or perhaps a wolf with a carcass. Merlin was more stubborn than any of the dogs in Arthur's kennels. They were better trained, too. "I don't answer to you," he said, looking away. "You're meant to be doing my laundry."</p><p>"Which I might be able to do if I didn't feel your eyes on me constantly." He flung his hands erratically when he said this, and part of Arthur wondered what sort of gestures he made when he did magic—were they similar? Or were they like the sorcerers of his nightmares: simple, forceful, controlled, like the sure blade of a killer?</p><p>"My eyes aren't on you. I don't want any part of me near you—like most sane people, I'd imagine." Arthur took a large bite of sausage to prove that he was done with this conversation. Merlin eyed him suspiciously but allowed him to drop the topic, picking the clothing back up.</p><p>Arthur found himself wondering at the man's plans for the Sluagh. Gaius had said they could only be defeated by powerful magic. And powerful magic probably coincided with <em>visible </em>magic. And the last entry of the diary had spoken of him performing riskier magicks. Arthur couldn't resist peeking out at the man. <em>What is he planning? </em></p><p>Gwen was right in that it would be easier if they told him, but the prince couldn't bring himself to do it. He would know everything before he confronted Merlin, and he would see how well the man's story matched up with the one he'd written. <em>Just how entrenched are your lies, Merlin?</em></p><p>"See!" The servant whirled and pointed at him. Arthur raised his eyebrows. "You're doing it again! You're looking at me!"</p><p>The prince snorted. "You're delusional—or perhaps drunk. Have you been at the tavern?" Had he not been watching for it, he would've missed the profound look of irritation cross Merlin's face before it vanished. He frowned, wondering what exactly it meant—<em>oh. </em>All those times Gaius had said Merlin was in the tavern… He'd probably been doing other, far more illegal things.</p><p>"Stop changing the subject. You were staring at me," Merlin said. "You should at least have the decency to say why." At least he hadn't dropped Arthur's clothing on the floor this time, the little rat.</p><p>"I'm a prince; I don't have to tell you anything." Arthur smiled at him sweetly. "And the council meeting starts soon. You best start preparing my clothes."</p><p>He heard the man mutter something like, "I'll start preparing your clothes when you tell me what the hell is going on," but his servant did as he was bid.</p><p>That night, Arthur was exhausted from a long day of training, giving speeches, and looking over their numbers of supplies and men. Merlin had double-checked them for him (despite his hesitancy to allow a liar to do so), and had found a mistake in one of the scribe's calculations. Although it had been relatively minor number, it had projected their estimated sword capacity about a hundred higher than it actually was. Arthur had had to go and deal with the man himself, who had nearly fallen down the stairs trying to apologize.</p><p>All he wanted was a bath and to sleep, but he knew that wasn't to be; after his bath, Merlin would leave. And then some of his more illicit work would begin. Or, rather, the discovery of just how illicit <em>Merlin's </em>work truly was. The sneak. Arthur couldn't help but watch him, even though he knew it cast suspicion on him.</p><p>This time, Merlin didn't seem to notice (likely because Arthur was peeking at him behind his changing screen). The servant poured his water into the tub, humming to himself. His sleeves were rolled up to keep them from getting too wet—the very picture of ordinary. How could this man be the same one who had defeated Nimueh on the isle to save Arthur's life? The same one who had defeated Sigan, Murien, Sofia?</p><p>"It's ready, Arthur," Merlin called, unaware the prince was watching. He climbed into the bath, where Merlin helped him wash his hair and back, nattering about something-or-other.</p><p>In the beginning, Merlin had been far too rough with his hair, but now he knew how to wash it properly, scratching his scalp lightly and never pulling on the strands. He couldn't help but relax, even though he knew the one helping him was a powerful sorcerer he'd never truly known. Closing his eyes, he did his best to avoid thinking.</p><p>"—listening to me? Arthur? Arthur?" Bloody irritating man. Arthur grunted, and Merlin flicked his cheek lightly with water, which forced him to open his eyes so he could glare up at him. "Don't look at me like that. I can't very well let you fall asleep—knowing my luck, you'll drown in the tub, and I'll be the one everyone blames."</p><p>"If I were to drown in my bath, with you not even a foot away, you <em>would </em>be the one to blame," Arthur said. But he stood, dripping, and stepped from the warm, soothing water. Merlin helped dry him and get him into his nightclothes. Seeing as it was getting cooler (and Gwen was coming), he elected to wear a shirt.</p><p>He climbed into bed, pretending to be ready to fall asleep. Merlin cleaned up (he'd empty the bath in the morning; it was too late now), and slowly put out the candles. Arthur heard the door open and close a few minutes later, though he pretended for a while longer. Merlin might come back. And then where would Arthur be? Caught, that was where.</p><p>But it seemed the servant was gone for good, and he rose, beginning to light the candles. It wasn't a moment too soon; Gwen knocked only a few seconds later. She looked wonderful, almost glowing in her soft yellow dress. Sharing this secret with her had served to relieve some of its immense weight from Arthur's shoulders, and he appreciated that she'd respected his decision to not tell Merlin, no matter how much she disagreed.</p><p>"Hello," he said. "Are you ready?" He went to his jewelry drawer and unlocked it, pulling out the small, nondescript book that had changed his entire perspective on everything.</p><p>"As much as I ever am," she said, sitting. He went next to her and opened the journal where they had left off. They'd read of Merlin uncovering enchantments, discovering Morgana's powers and urging Gaius to tell her, and helping defeat Lady Catrina (which had amused Merlin far too much). Arthur had tried to recall what <em>he'd </em>been doing during these events, but although he'd been a part of them, he'd never been privy to all that happened behind the scenes.</p><p>Since Gwen looked ready, he cleared his throat and began:</p><p>
  <em>I can't believe I've been so stupid! I was out in the forest collecting wood, and I wanted to try out a spell I'd learned. I thought there was no one about, but a woman saw the smoke transform into a horse and knew it was magic.</em>
</p><p>"That was him?" Arthur muttered, but Gwen gestured for him to continue.</p><p>
  <em>Uther sent for a witchfinder. I'd never seen one in person before; I've been warned to stay away, that they have methods to detect sorcerers. This witchfinder was called Aredian. He questioned me, but I denied seeing the magic in the forest. He searched my chambers anyway—as well as the main physician chambers—and found some "magical" bracelet. </em>
</p><p>"Strange that he didn't know right away Aredian was some kind of sorcerer," Arthur said. "He seems to know most of the time, when someone uses magic." Or at least he'd known in previous entries. Perhaps his senses were unreliable? He didn't know.</p><p>"Maybe Aredian didn't use magic when he got here. Or maybe he just doesn't mention it," Gwen speculated.</p><p>"Odd thing not to mention." But Arthur read on regardless.</p><p>
  <em>It was not mine or Gaius's (I have better hiding places than some jar, and he told me it wasn't his). Aredian arrested Gaius regardless, for my mentor claimed it was his. He was clearly tortured—he was ill, afterward, because an old man is not meant to endure such hardship. But even as he confessed to the crime of sorcery, I knew I could not let him die. He means everything to me, and I feared that I had killed him. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>Aredian took Morgana in for questioning, Gwen told me. I knew I could not let a second person be executed for my mistake. When I searched his chambers, I found a flower. It was belladonna, which can be used to induce hallucinations.</em>
</p><p>Arthur furrowed his brow. "But not the bracelets and amulets we found later?" Odd. If Aredian had kept the belladonna in his cupboard, when had he stacked all of the fake "magical" jewelry to frame people with.</p><p>"I'm sure Merlin will explain," Gwen said. "And I still can't believe the king just let Gaius be hurt like that. They've always seemed like friends."</p><p><em>Or as close to a friend as my father can get, </em>Arthur thought, understanding the meaning behind her delicate words. "He's… blind when it comes to magic, as I'm sure you know. He isn't rational when it's involved, usually." <em>Or ever. </em>Gwen nodded but didn't comment.</p><p>The prince couldn't help but feel guilty—he should've done more to help, even though he'd succeeded in stopping Gaius's execution in time for Merlin to present evidence that he wasn't a sorcerer (even though he sort of was…). Why did his servant have to do everything in such a complicated manner? Even when the man helped, he did so convolutedly. He ignored the voice telling him that Merlin didn't exactly have much choice; secrecy had tied his hands.</p><p>He continued:</p><p>
  <em>Long story short, Aredian managed to give the witnesses belladonna eye drops. When I brought this forward to the king, he had Aredian's chambers searched. I'd conjured jewelry in his cupboard—for further proof of his guilt—but, to save his own cowardly life, he took Morgana hostage. </em>
</p><p>"His sentences are the most disjointed things I've ever had to read," Arthur muttered. "But at least we know how the jewelry got there. Merlin's as much a liar as Aredian."</p><p>"Arthur!" Gwen swatted his arm lightly (not even trying to hurt him, just to let him know she was displeased). "The witchfinder tortured his mentor and threatened to execute Morgana! And he <em>had </em>lied about the belladonna and the bracelet. You're being ridiculous."</p><p>Perhaps he was, but he couldn't help but see the hypocrisy in what Merlin had done—or the fact that the witchfinder had been right. All those he'd targeted—Merlin, Morgana, Gaius—<em>had </em>been sorcerers.</p><p>
  <em>And I made him vomit up toads. Petty, perhaps, but the man deserved it. When I made the handle of the knife he was holding to Morgana's throat burn, he dropped it and tripped backward. He fell through the window and died. </em>
</p><p>"And he did that, too," Arthur said. "Is there no end to his trickery?"</p><p>"You can't say the man didn't deserve it," Gwen said, which was rather brutal coming from her. "Even though it shouldn't have happened like that. He was threatening Morgana! Merlin had to do something—he saved her and got rid of him. Why are you so hard on him?"</p><p><em>Because he lied to me! </em>Arthur wanted to shout, but they'd been down this road so many times it was worn and filled with holes. He didn't want to argue with her, though he acknowledged that, for the most part, Merlin had done an <em>okay </em>job. Perhaps better than his serving, which was mediocre at best.</p><p>Before the silence could stretch on too long, Arthur read the last paragraph.</p><p>
  <em>I can't say I'm sorry, though Gaius told me perhaps I'd overdone it. I don't know what I would've done to the man if my mentor had died. Probably something worse. I'll try not to think about it. </em>
</p><p>There was a darkness to some of these, a darkness Merlin had kept well-hidden. But Arthur couldn't say he wouldn't do the same, if someone had killed his father. His father, who was lying in bed, lifeless, as an army marched on Camelot… <em>Morgana… </em>She had so much to answer for.</p><p>"Do you want to read the next one?" Arthur offered. So far, Gwen had refused each and every time, though he knew she could read. He wondered if she was embarrassed.</p><p>"I'm fine, thank you," she said, so he started the next entry.</p><p>
  <em>It all began when a mysterious, armored warrior threw the gauntlet down in front of Arthur. And the prince, instead of doing the logical thing and ignoring it, picked it up. Only this armored knight revealed herself to be a woman—which meant Arthur couldn't fight her, naturally.</em>
</p><p>Gwen rolled her eyes. "You could've backed out," she said. "You didn't have to fight her." Was he to suffer company with people who cared nothing for the knight's code? It was obvious to him why he couldn't have withdrawn.</p><p>"Not with my honor at stake," Arthur said. "It's just not done." He recalled what had happened after all this, and he couldn't help but feel guilty. <em>Merlin helped me here, too, but at least he told me the truth this time. </em>His father hadn't sacrificed his mother; he hadn't been born of magic. He kept reading.</p><p>
  <em>She ignored his attempts to make her withdraw, not that I blame her. She beat him soundly when they fought (so much for greatest fighter in the land). The woman—Morgause—spared his life if he promised to meet her outside of Camelot. The prince agreed. Unfortunately, he told his father, who of course tried to stop him from going.</em>
</p><p><em>So naturally </em>I <em>had to help him escape. Not that Arthur thanked me. Anyway, we went to Morgause together, where she offered him the chance to speak to his mother. Ygraine told him that he had been conceived through magic, and that his father had sacrificed her so that an heir might be born, using the power of life and death—the power I once wielded to save Gaius.</em></p><p>Gwen gasped as Arthur tried to fight down the painful memories. The one time he'd seen his mother, and it had been an illusion cast by a sorceress. She'd died so soon after he'd been born… He couldn't recall her voice, her face, except when she was telling him how his father had betrayed her, sacrificed her. Used <em>magic, </em>something Uther professed to be the worst crime imaginable.</p><p><em>He would've burned Merlin already. I shouldn't be doing this. I shouldn't be reading this. </em>But the serious thought of executing Merlin hadn't crossed his mind in days (or ever—because how could he ever order Merlin to his death?). The warlock didn't deserve it, magic or no. Arthur felt he didn't even deserve being locked up, at this point.</p><p>But he didn't know what he should do. Change the law for one man? Or was it just one man? Were there more? And his father still lived… Could he undo the man's legacy even before he left this world? Such things just weren't done. But could he lie to his people? His most trusted knights?</p><p>
  <em>Well, Lancelot knows already. The sneak. </em>
</p><p>"—Arthur?" He felt a hand lay on his arm. "Are you alright?" He looked down into her large sympathetic eyes.</p><p>"I—I'm fine, thank you," he managed. "I'll keep reading, now."</p><p>
  <em>Arthur practically flew back to Camelot. He was furious, and he derided the king as a hypocrite and a liar. They fought, and Arthur was ready to kill him. This, I suspected, was what Morgause had wanted: a kingdom divided, unstable, and ripe for ruin. And while Arthur can be angry, he would never be able to live with himself if he killed his only remaining parent.</em>
</p><p>Arthur could see now how beautifully he'd played into Morgause's hands. Merlin's assessment couldn't have been truer, yet the prince had ignored all his common sense and charged head-first at the perceived problem: his father. He recalled exchanging blows with him, the way he knew with certainty that he could end Uther's life right then and there.</p><p>
  <em>So I did the only thing I could: I stopped him. I told him what we had seen had been an illusion, and he calmed. Uther swore it was a lie, and he ceased trying to commit regicide. The king thanked me personally for remaining an ally in the fight against magic, and I felt like I might have vomited on his polished shoes. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>He probably would've executed me for that alone, never mind the sorcery. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>I spoke with Gaius about it, and while it is true that Uther and Ygraine turned to Nimueh for an heir conceived through magic, they had no idea it would be the queen whose life would be taken. And Uther, furious with Nimueh (for it was she they had gone to), began the Purge, slaughtering hundreds. I don't know if this is better or worse than the lie that Morgause told Arthur. Or if it makes it worse that I have lied to Arthur yet again. </em>
</p><p>Arthur sat, stunned. Merlin had lied again? And not for his own hide, but for Uther's? Did the wretched man have no concept of boundaries? His head raced, his heart throbbing in his chest like something had hit it. Uther <em>had </em>turned to magic. Arthur <em>had </em>been conceived with Nimueh's help, and Merlin had <em>lied </em>about it. To what? Save the skin of the man who had killed hundreds of his kind?</p><p>No—there had to be some ulterior motive, some…</p><p>…<em>he would never be able to live with himself if he killed his remaining parent… </em>Could it really be that simple? That, and… Arthur's people and knights would've been torn. Follow the prince, who'd just killed his own father? It would've destabilized the kingdom. He could see that now—far more clearly than he had in the heat of the moment, in the hot fury of being told his father was the worst kind of man.</p><p>
  <em>Does this version make him any better?</em>
</p><p>"I had no idea any of this happened," Gwen said. "I mean, Morgana said you came back angry, but…"</p><p>Arthur forced himself to speak. "My father made sure it was kept quiet. And I was so embarrassed at being this gullible… I made sure not to say anything either. Merlin never brought it up—though I suppose now I know why." Still, he couldn't exactly blame Merlin. The servant had done what was best for Arthur and the kingdom, even if he'd chosen to keep the prince ignorant.</p><p><em>Would I have stopped if he hadn't lied to me? </em>He didn't know, and that scared him. He couldn't be so out of control with his emotions that everyone else had to do damage control. That was not how a king was meant to act—nor a prince. He needed to do better.</p><p>And Uther… His father <em>had </em>turned to magic. And then, when his wife had been taken, he'd executed thousands. Arthur had known for a long time that not everyone with magic deserved to die—he'd known it with the druid boy. He'd known it with the children his father had killed. The prince simply couldn't bear to think of it; he remembered his first execution—he'd been ten years old… A girl, no older than him, had been spotted doing magic. And he'd watched as she died.</p><p>He'd cried afterward, and his father had nearly slapped him. He'd almost forgotten the memory—had done his best to forget it. He'd had nightmares about the girl, even years later…</p><p>But he still couldn't keep back the rising irritation at Merlin; it tugged at him as inevitably as the ground tugged at his feet. The warlock <em>had </em>lied. Again. All of these pages were filled with lies—or truths, rather. <em>Arthur </em>had been given the lies.</p><p>"I guess we should continue," he said, mouth dry. He didn't want to linger on these revelations. Conceived through magic…</p><p>"We don't have to if you don't want to," Gwen said, but she seemed to sense it would be difficult for him to sleep if they stopped now. "But I am eager to learn more." As was he. Just how many more lies would there be?</p><p>He started the next entry.</p><p>
  <em>I released a druid girl from a bounty hunter's cage. She was so sad, so broken-looking… And I knew it could've been me. It could've been me, sitting in the cage, waiting to be sold and executed.</em>
</p><p>That was a… disturbing image. What if Merlin had been caught long before Arthur had ever met him? Uther paid money even for those sorcerers brought across borders, and with Ealdor so close to Camelot… He imagined a child, shivering and abused, wheeled about in a cage like some kind of dangerous animal. What if he'd been like that girl, executed without the prince even knowing who he was?</p><p>He shivered.</p><p>"How horrible that must've been for her—and for him," Gwen said. "Waiting to be killed… Merlin did the right thing."</p><p>"A stupid thing," Arthur muttered, but he privately agreed. His father's witch hunts had done nothing but harm innocent people, ignoring the real culprits.</p><p>
  <em>So I freed her and hid her beneath the tunnels of Camelot. I brought her food. We talked. She… kissed me. It was nice; I didn't have to hide, for once. Hiding has somewhat impaired my romantic relations—even without considering all the work I do. But with Freya—her name was Freya—it all seemed so easy, even though I had only known her for a short while. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>Nothing good ever lasts, for me.</em>
</p><p>That was ominous. Arthur was—almost relieved to hear that Merlin's romantic life had been stopped by his secret, though he couldn't say why. Even the idea of him with this druid girl rubbed him the wrong way.</p><p>
  <em>A beast was attacking the citadel by night: a great winged panther, called a bastet. Gaius told me it was Freya—this animal ripping apart people was the sweet girl I was harboring. I couldn't believe it; I wanted to leave with her. Leave the lying, everything.</em>
</p><p>"Leave?" Gwen echoed. "He was going to leave Camelot with her?" Arthur tried to think back to when this must've taken place. The bastet… He paled. No. He must be remembering wrong.</p><p>"He must've enjoyed being honest with her," he croaked. Gwen stared at him oddly, but he continued.</p><p>
  <em>But he was right. I saw the bastet, and I knew. She was fighting Arthur and the knights—Arthur landed a blow. I managed to distract him with a falling gargoyle, but it wasn't enough. The wound was mortal.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>She confessed to me that she had been cursed to kill forevermore, that she'd had no control over herself when she changed. There was such guilt in her eyes…</em>
</p><p>
  <em>The best I could do for her was give her the funeral she deserved. She told me I made her feel loved, dying, as I held her.</em>
</p><p>The letters here were smeared, blurred—Merlin had cried over them. <em>Oh, God… I killed the girl he liked. The girl he was going to run away with… </em>And then he'd shoved a bucket over his head, and done a terrible job comforting him. Why had his servant stayed?</p><p>The law forbade sorcerers from marked graves, from funerals. Arthur couldn't imagine grieving so quietly in a place that would've gladly desecrated the corpse of the person he was mourning.</p><p>Gwen was covering her mouth, glancing at him. Seeing his expression, she said, "I don't think he blames you; he stayed here. <em>I </em>don't blame you. She was cursed, and we know she was killing innocent people."</p><p>"<em>She </em>was an innocent," Arthur said. "Maybe he could've found a way to cure her. Think if it had been one of my knights—or <em>me—</em>who'd been cursed, and killed needlessly. She didn't have to die."</p><p>"You didn't know," Gwen insisted. "Don't blame yourself for this. You saw a danger to your people."</p><p>"I killed a girl." He sighed, scrubbing a hand over his face. It was rough and callused, but the sensation made him feel more grounded, more <em>here. </em>"I'm surprised he didn't leave right then. He's had no reason to stay, these past years." Constantly under the threat of death, constantly lying… What was the point? To save a man who hated him and his kind? To save a <em>kingdom </em>who hated him and his kind?</p><p>"He has," Gwen said. "He cares for you—for us. He knows how many times he's saved us. If he left, we'd be sure to die. Gaius, you, me, all of his friends." But <em>how </em>could he be so altruistic? It didn't fit with the power-hungry sorcerer—none of it did!</p><p><em>But Father lied. He lied to me about Ygraine, about my conception. He lied about why the Purge began. He's more of a liar than Merlin has ever been. </em>He itched to confront the king, but he knew nothing would come of it. Uther was ill and bedridden; he might as well have confronted a rock.</p><p>The conflicting emotions wouldn't seem to leave him alone. <em>Lies, lies, why is my life full of lies? Lies since my birth, lies since Merlin arrived. </em>At least he could understand why Merlin had lied; his father had lied to cover up his mistake, so that he might lash out in his grief, blame his pain on another…</p><p>"I can't believe he would forgive me," Arthur said. "He clearly liked her." There was that strange twinge again, deep in his gut.</p><p>"He's not blind, Arthur; he understands you didn't know," Gwen said. They sat in silence for a brief moment. "Shall we continue?"</p><p>Arthur both needed and dreaded to read the next entry. It would reveal more about things he <em>had </em>to know about, but it might also complicate his feelings. In the end, he decided it wasn't worth it. He had enough to do tonight—mainly, trying to get some rest. Shaking his head, he said, "No, if that's alright with you, Guinevere. We both need our rest."</p><p>"Of course." She rose and curtseyed sweetly—though he'd told her she didn't have to in private—and left, smiling at him as she closed the door. As he climbed into bed, he was thankful this time hadn't ended in an argument.</p><p>He stared up at his dark curtains, mind racing, too wound up to sleep. His father lying, Merlin lying… The mystery of the dragon… The Sluagh, Morgana marching on Camelot… What Merlin was doing to prepare for it… What <em>he </em>was doing to prepare for it… Eventually, in an exhausted fervor, he fell asleep.</p><hr/><p>Merlin had looked everywhere. No, genuinely, he had. The goblin room, his room, Gaius's chambers, the dragon's cave—even stranger places, like where he frequented the woods. But he couldn't find his diary anywhere—the diary that held basically all of his secrets.</p><p>Internally panicking, he couldn't even tell Gaius about it; the old man would scold him first for <em>keeping </em>a diary and second for <em>losing </em>the diary. He might as well confess, because an execution would be infinitely kinder than the tongue-flaying he'd receive from his mentor.</p><p>Gaius still seemed to realize <em>something </em>was wrong, though he incorrectly assumed it had something to do with the shield. He asked about the runes—was their integrity holding, was the magic draining too quickly? Merlin had denied these things, but his mentor hadn't seemed convinced. Merlin was almost relieved.</p><p>He wasn't relieved, however, to <em>not find his diary anywhere. </em>He could've sworn he left it in his room, but now there was nothing save his <em>other </em>illegal items. Not one of the most important illegal items of them all.</p><p>Forcibly, he pushed the panic from his throat down, down to his stomach, where it roared up a frenzy until he felt sick. But he had to keep acting as though everything was normal. And his bone-deep exhaustion—continued from his lack of sleep—certainly didn't help matters.</p><p>But he brought up Arthur's breakfast, starting in the kitchens as he always did. "Don't you touch any of them pastries, boy," the cook warned, brandishing her ladle at him. He smiled innocently as he collected food for the prince; he could always mooch off of Arthur, even if his friend <em>had </em>been acting rather odd.</p><p>"Merlin!" someone hissed. He turned to see Arabella, one of the maids. "Did you hear? I mean, of course you must've heard—you probably know more than I do."</p><p>"Er." Merlin glanced around, but he found no clues in the vats of porridge or sizzling sausages. He looked back at Arabella, who was a bouncy girl with bright blue eyes and tan skin. "No?"</p><p>"What?" she said, exaggerating her shocked expression. He would've found it annoying on anyone else, but it suited her, somehow. "I'll walk with you part-way to the prince regent's chambers. You just have to know!"</p><p>Arabella had been one of the king's many servants. While others had fetched his bath, she had cleaned his room and brought him meals. She didn't do this any longer, instead helping with more general upkeep.</p><p>They walked up the servant stairs together, Merlin carefully balancing Arthur's tray with both hands. He wondered what on earth she was yammering about; he hadn't heard anything about anything.</p><p>"So what is it I have to know, exactly?" he asked, tilting the tray ever-so-slightly so a sausage close to the edge rolled back.</p><p>"It pertains to the prince's <em>relationships, </em>naturally," Arabella said.</p><p>"Naturally," Merlin repeated. Had someone put the prat under another love spell? He barely had time to sleep, much less break an enchantment. Morgana and her army would be there in less than three weeks' time.</p><p>"One of the guards saw <em>Gwen </em>sneaking into his chambers last night!" she squealed. "Isn't that salacious? I mean, he's dreamy for sure, but… He's always been too noble to take any of us to bed. Or if he has, he's kept very quiet about it."</p><p><em>That </em>was too much information. He could just imagine serving girls throwing themselves at Arthur, who refused to even acknowledge them. But this news wasn't as big as Arabella thought; Merlin knew his friends, and he knew the likelihood of them doing anything more than kiss was low (Arthur wouldn't want to risk staining her honor or getting her pregnant). But then, why <em>had </em>Gwen snuck into his chambers?</p><p>"That's—very surprising," Merlin said, in what he hoped was a convincing tone. "Thanks for telling me. I, um, always appreciate the news." He usually did, but this time he knew Gwen might get a load of teasing or nastiness for what she'd done—or what people thought she'd done.</p><p>"Anytime, Merlin. Let me know if—you know…" She waggled her eyebrows suggestively, and the servant nodded.</p><p>"Of, er, course," he said, and she flounced off. <em>Arthur acting strange, Gwen sneaking into his room... I don't have time for any of this! </em>His friends had all gone mad, it seemed like.</p><p>He debated knocking on Arthur's door, but in the end he decided there was no way anything had happened. He was proven right when he opened the door to see Arthur snoring soundly—distinctly <em>alone. </em></p><p>Merlin accidentally spilled the wine left over from last night on all of Arthur's papers as he set down the tray. Muttering a string of curses, he glanced to Arthur before, with a flash of his eyes, the wine on the pages—and dripping onto the floor—disappeared.</p><p>"What was that noise?" Arthur asked sleepily. His eyes were half-lidded and heavy, and he just watched as Merlin sheepishly drew the curtains.</p><p>"Nothing, sire, absolutely nothing," the servant said. Arthur frowned, sitting up to peer around the room. Seeing nothing amiss, he settled for an even deeper frown.</p><p>"I definitely heard <em>something," </em>he said.</p><p>"The wind, my footsteps, the bustling sounds of your people in the courtyard… You're going to have to be more specific," Merlin said, going back to the table and organizing the papers he'd almost ruined.</p><p>"I'm not mentally deficient, Merlin—it was a clanging sound, as if you'd knocked something over," he said. The servant shook his head rapidly.</p><p>"No, I knocked nothing over. Perhaps it was a dream?" He ambled over to the fireplace; it was chill enough that the warmth would be welcome.</p><p>Arthur's frown morphed into a scowl. "Don't play games with me, <em>Mer</em>lin," he said. But he rose from bed without further fuss, sitting down at the table to eat. He went to pour some wine, peering into the empty pitcher. "I could've sworn there was more in here."</p><p>"You must've drank it all," Merlin said glibly. "Or perhaps… you and <em>Gwen </em>drank it all?"</p><p>Arthur was so startled he nearly dropped the pitcher, though he quickly regained his composure. "I'm afraid I've no idea what you're talking about," he said.</p><p>"Gwen—you know, the serving girl who lives in the lower town? Daughter of a blacksmith, sister to Sir Elyan? The one who apparently snuck into your chambers last night?" Merlin listed. He blew gently on the kindling that had caught fire.</p><p>"That's none of your business," Arthur maintained.</p><p>Merlin grunted, unconvinced. "Truly? Usually you like my advice when it comes to Gwen—I can't help but feel you have something to hide."</p><p>"I've nothing to hide," Arthur said immediately, his voice rising.</p><p>Merlin stood, dusting off the knees of his breeches. "Then you wouldn't mind telling me what she was doing here." Arthur's vehemence to hide the whatever-it-was piqued Merlin's curiosity. Had they been doing something "salacious"—as Arabella had put it? The thought didn't bring as much displeasure as he thought it would. "If she's with child…"</p><p>"We didn't sleep together!" Arthur cried, with enough outrage that Merlin believed him. "Good God, Merlin, we were only talking. Why must you stick your nose into <em>everything? </em>Sometimes a man just wants to be left alone—to eat his breakfast in peace!"</p><p>The servant scowled but did as he was bid, letting the uncomfortable silence envelope them as he continued cleaning up Arthur's chambers. Gwen was his friend; Arthur was his friend. Didn't he deserve to know what was happening with them, why they were acting so strangely?</p><p>Perhaps Arthur was right. Perhaps he was too nosy. Likely it had nothing to do with him. Their relationship was progressing, and he was no longer involved.</p><p>He didn't understand the sadness that welled up inside him at the thought. Arthur and Gwen—together, without him? He'd known, intellectually, that that was always how it was going to turn out. Gwen would be queen, and he still a lowly servant, a lowly servant forever if Arthur's attitude toward magic held true.</p><p>But he hadn't though it would be so soon that they would leave him behind. Merlin let out a small sigh and kept cleaning. <em>He's right anyway. I don't have time to stick my nose in their business.</em></p><hr/><p>Arthur felt oddly exhausted when Gwen came in that night. He didn't know if it was the lack of sleep, Morgana's encroaching army (and his preparations for it), his father, or the Merlin situation. Perhaps a combination of all of them. He rubbed his eyes—even the firelight seemed too bright. He just wanted to draw his curtains and sleep.</p><p>"Good evening, Arthur," Gwen said. She poured herself some wine and sat next to him. Then she poured some for him, pushing it closer. "You look as if you need it."</p><p>Arthur took it gratefully. "I feel as though I do." He took a sip, its sweet-sour taste soothing on his tongue. He wanted to lose himself in it, as he'd done in the past. Forget the issue of Merlin and what to do about him. Forget the army. Forget his father.</p><p>He shoved down the urge ruthlessly. The prince who'd used alcohol to cope had been an irresponsible twat, someone Arthur's kingdom couldn't afford in the present crises. Arthur flipped to the entry they were on, knowing by now that Gwen wasn't inclined to read.</p><p>But before he began, he looked at her. "Did anyone see you come in?" he asked. "They saw you last night—and Merlin had <em>questions." </em></p><p>Gwen grimaced. "I know. The serving girls wouldn't stop prodding me about it. Made it difficult for me to work. And some of the guards kept glancing at me—and I could see what they thought in their faces." Right. They had likely jumped to the same conclusions Merlin had.</p><p>"I'm sorry. I didn't realize how hard getting caught might be for you," he said.</p><p>"I overheard one of the stable boys. He said—well, he said you must've been stressed, to have finally taken one of the serving girls to fuck, especially such an ugly one. Said I'd be throwing myself at them next, charging coin." She didn't look at him as she said it, spoke about her ridicule and hurt. But he could hear it in her voice. She'd grown up here, knew these people, and now they assumed the worst of her.</p><p>"That's not who you are to me—that's not who you are regardless," he said.</p><p>"I know it," she said, smiling and catching his hand. "But it pleases me to hear you speak so. Shall we continue? I'll be more careful when I leave tonight."</p><p>"Alright," Arthur said. His lady asked, and so he would deliver. He cleared his throat and started to read.</p><p>
  <em>I fear that fate will not be denied. Morgana aided Mordred and Alvarr in stealing the Crystal of Neahtid from Camelot's vaults. It can show its user the past, present, and future. Mordred had the power to use it; Morgana had the resources to steal it. I overheard them talking about it—she met with them outside of Camelot to deliver the crystal. </em>
</p><p>"That happened so long ago…" Gwen whispered. "Was she truly so corrupted even then?"</p><p>Arthur couldn't say; he didn't know. Perhaps Merlin knew, but he hadn't made such a thing explicit in his journal, and of course he'd hidden it from them if he'd known what was happening. Had he known of her betrayal before it happened?</p><p>Why hadn't he tried to tell them?</p><p>
  <em>I didn't know why the crystal was important or what role it played in their plans. I was forced to go to the one person who might know about it: Kilgharrah. He grows impatient with me and my stalling. But I worry what he might do if I set him free. </em>
</p><p>At least he wasn't as gullible as he portrayed himself as. Some part of Arthur was hurt by that, hurt be Merlin's loss of perceived innocence. He'd known about it since he first began reading, but… It hit him, over and over, how little he knew about his friend. "And rightly so," Arthur said. He looked seriously at Gwen. "Do you think he actually did it? Tell me honestly."</p><p>She bit her lip. "I don't know. I just—I don't know. He could have, but maybe Kilgharrah—" She spoke the name awkwardly, neither of them knowing how the strangely-spelt word was pronounced—"simply managed to find a way to escape. But…" They both knew that was too optimistic.</p><p>What would Arthur do if Merlin had released the beast? Caused all those deaths to his people? Such a crime—an act of murder a thousand times over—couldn't go unpunished. But how could Arthur punish him with everything else he'd done?</p><p>His father would've already executed him. Maybe, maybe… The dark thoughts crept in as they hadn't since he'd first started reading the diary.</p><p><em>We don't even know what he's done yet. </em>That was his plan, his promise: he wouldn't act until he had all of the information, every last shred of it. And then he would use it to condemn or pardon. It all depended on Merlin.</p><p>He continued:</p><p>
  <em>Gaius and I told Uther of this, leaving out Morgana. The king ordered Arthur and the knights to retrieve the crystal, but I think Morgana must have warned them, for they were waiting for us when we arrived. Mordred escaped, but we took Alvarr and the crystal. As everyone else slept, I looked into the crystal and saw a horrible future: the dragon burning Camelot to the ground. </em>
</p><p>"That was why he looked so strange when I woke," Arthur muttered. He'd known, then. If he ended up releasing it… He'd known the consequences.</p><p>
  <em>In Camelot, Alvarr escaped (likely with Morgana's help) before he could be executed. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>I must confess something to you, reader: I may have omitted an important detail previously. The dragon has warned me, repeatedly, of Mordred's dark future: he is destined to kill Arthur. I couldn't bear to kill a child (and ended up helping save him), but now… Mordred, I fear, has begun down the path of vengeance. He was ready to use the crystal to raze Camelot. Perhaps Alvarr coerced him. I don't know. I just—I don't know. There are other prophecies that describe Morgana and Mordred, united in evil. But while Morgana has made mistakes, I would hesitate to name her evil.</em>
</p><p>Arthur blinked, sitting back into his chair. "Mordred… The druid boy we saved?" Destined to kill him? United with Morgana "in evil," whatever that meant. Where had Merlin heard of these prophecies? Arthur knew of no such things—foretelling relating directly to him. His death…</p><p>"They can't be true," Gwen reassured him. "Mordred is still something of a child, and he must be grateful that you saved him."</p><p>"But I have killed his kind; surely that might overpower his gratitude." And the prophecy—wherever Merlin got it—had been right about Morgana. The magic crystal had been right about the dragon. Uther had always condemned magical tellings of the future as nonsense, charlatans looking to make a buck off of gullible people.</p><p>But his father had been wrong before. And his father had lied before—especially about magic (Arthur had sat staring at his father's blank face for an age that day, wondering why he had lied about his birth, why he had blamed magic instead of Nimueh. What sort of hypocrite used magic then turned around and killed everyone else for doing the same?).</p><p>"I don't know, Arthur. I can't see a child of—what, he must be fifteen summers now—killing you," Gwen said. Neither could Arthur, but he read on anyway.</p><p>
  <em>The dragon's calls haunt me. He beckons me as I try to sleep, demanding that I come release him. But I know now I dare not.</em>
</p><p>"That's the end of it," Arthur said. A hot fervor began to grow within him. He had to know—had Merlin released the dragon? He would find out before the night's end: in this, he was resolute. He needed to know, needed to know the extent of Merlin's sins. Lying, treachery—would he add mass-murder to the list before the night was over?</p><p>He had to know.</p><p>"What does he mean, 'beckons me while I sleep'?" Gwen asked. "Surely the dragon couldn't have called to him aloud; the whole castle would've heard."</p><p>"I think he means through magic means. He tells of the dragon calling to him before, when he first came to Camelot," Arthur said. "I wonder, though, if it's a sort of feeling or impression or an actual voice." He knew that magic could give impressions and feelings; he'd been under the thrall of enough spells to recognize that much.</p><p>But words without voices? He wasn't sure.</p><p>"Shall we continue, then?" Gwen said, and Arthur nodded.</p><p>
  <em>You have to understand. A sleeping curse was cast upon Camelot—something that sent all of its citizens into a deep slumber. Morgause was behind it, the witch who manipulated Arthur with the ghost of Ygraine. Arthur, myself, and a few others had left the castle to investigate the knights of Medhir (for smoke rose from their castle), and when we came back, everyone was collapsed on the ground.</em>
</p><p>The words were written shakily, sloppily (or more sloppy than usual). As if Merlin had been rushed—or perhaps emotional? Arthur wondered what new secrets Merlin was going to reveal to him.</p><p>
  <em>Everyone save Morgana. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>At first, I thought her immune because of her magic, and I covered for her. I lied for her—to Arthur, so he wouldn't know. But soon I too began to grow tired; I could feel the weight of the enchantment upon me, tugging me into eternal sleep. I used my magic, casting spells on Gaius to see if I might break the spell. But nothing worked. My magic was useless, and the knights of Medhir, summoned to rise by Morgause, were invading the castle. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>I had no choice. You must believe me. If you believe in nothing else I've said, at least believe this: I had no choice when I went to ask Kilgharrah for help. But the dragon had grown impatient, so impatient he would give me the information only after I swore on my mother's life to release him. His magic flashed, and I know the oath was binding. </em>
</p><p>"Oh, Merlin…" Gwen gasped, holding her hand to her mouth. A chill settled over Arthur. A binding oath. An oath he'd presumably kept. What did it mean? Had Merlin truly released him? Had he allowed the dragon to nearly raze Camelot with its deadly flame, its powerful malice?</p><p>The chill was so cold it numbed him. What did a person do with so many secrets? Arthur's mind raced, the idea of locking Merlin in chains an alluring one. Just toss the problem away, until he'd figured out what to do.</p><p>And still, a voice in the back of his mind whispered to execute him, execute him. Burning, beheading, hanging—the sorcerer needed to die. He'd killed and lied and <em>had released the dragon. </em></p><p>"Arthur?" Gwen asked tentatively, laying her hand on his shoulder. Arthur shook her off. He had to think like a prince, like a king. Not like Arthur.</p><p>"I'm fine," he said gruffly. "Let's see what he does." And so he came to the decision he always came to: he would wait and see. Perhaps Merlin had changed his mind last minute, and the dragon, in a fury, had escaped.</p><p>He doubted it, but perhaps…</p><p>Arthur continued:</p><p>
  <em>He told me how to break the enchantment. The sleeping curse affecting Camelot was attached to a person, a willing vessel. That vessel was Morgana, and the only way to break it was to kill her. My blood ran cold. How was I meant to choose between her and the lives of everyone I've grown to love here?</em>
</p><p>"'A willing vessel,'" Arthur quoted. "She knew, then? She knew she was dooming Camelot, so early on? Did she care so little for us all?" The thought of her being filled with the malevolence he'd seen those weeks ago, her icy smirk and stinging eyes.</p><p>"I don't know," Gwen said, biting her lip. "I think there's only one person who can tell us." Morgana. Not that she'd be forthcoming about it—Morgana's playful teasing had turned into cruel taunting. She'd only laugh if they asked.</p><p>
  <em>When I returned to the throne room, I heard the sounds of Arthur fighting. I knew he wouldn't last. How was I meant to choose? I looked at Morgana, and I offered her a drink.</em>
</p><p>Here again the ink was smudged, as though Merlin had cried. Cried over Morgana? The woman who'd already tried to destroy Camelot and kill the king, the woman who had helped Alvarr steal a crystal for those same purposes?</p><p>
  <em>I poisoned her. </em>
</p><p>Arthur blinked. <em>A coward's move,</em> his mind said. <em>A clever move, </em>he countered. Merlin hadn't wanted to reveal his magic, and Morgana would've likely beaten him in physical combat. Poison had been his only option.</p><p>"I can't believe he would try to kill her, just like that," Gwen said shakily. "He's always seemed so… I mean, I know he's killed before, but those were always strangers."</p><p>"He was desperate." Arthur swept a finger across the wrinkled page. "And I don't think it came easily to him."</p><p>"Still. I've always seen him as so… so gentle," she said. "But he can be as hard as anyone." <em>Harder, probably. </em>Arthur didn't know, if he'd been put in the same situation, if he would've been able to strike down his own sister, the girl he'd grown up with. Poison, sword, it wouldn't have mattered. He doubted he could've done it.</p><p>"Yes. And I think we'd do well to remember that." If Arthur tried to imprison him, kill him… He'd have to be very careful about how he did it. He eyed Gwen. She wouldn't be happy with him, either. Might never forgive him, if he hurt Merlin.</p><p>But if Merlin had been responsible for so many of his people's deaths…</p><p>
  <em>She struggled in my arms as I held her, betrayal wide in her eyes. I can't get the image out of my mind; it lingers there. I think she lives, but I fear I have turned her away from us forever. Her hatred of Uther has festered, and I am so afraid…</em>
</p><p>
  <em>I made a bargain with Morgause—she'd withdraw the knights of Medhir so that she might know the poison I used. She wanted to save Morgana. There was no other way. Please, believe me. </em>
</p><p>I believe you, Arthur wanted to say. And he did. He understood the calculus behind it, the hard, steely logic Merlin had used to poison Morgana. He'd made the right call, the best call. He'd saved Camelot.</p><p>
  <em>Does it matter if he doomed it not even a day later?</em>
</p><p>Arthur read on.</p><p>
  <em>How was I meant to choose? </em>
</p><p>
  <em>I am terrified of what the dragon may do once I release him, but what choice do I have? What choice do I have in any of this? </em>
</p><p>
  <em>I cannot trust Kilgharrah, not after what he did. Not after what I saw in the crystal. But I must release him—the consequences of not keeping my oath will be grave. But releasing him might be worse. How am I meant to choose? I can't. I was not meant for this, whatever anyone may say. I can't. I can't!</em>
</p><p>The words dissolved into almost scribbles, and Arthur could hear Merlin's voice in his head, frantic, panicked, trying to find another way, trying to keep from obeying his oath. Untrained, a simple peasant boy gifted with powers and a responsibility he had taken upon himself.</p><p>And still Arthur's heart hardened. He closed off his memories of Merlin, the man he knew. Like cauterizing a wound, he burned them away. He would do what needed to be done, no matter what. He burned them away like a witch on the pyre, burned them away until there were only bones. He was cutting them off, throwing them away, these precious memories. Preparing himself. The law was the law, and Merlin…</p><p>Merlin couldn't be above it.</p><p>
  <em>I know your sins now, Merlin. I know what you've done. And I can't condone it. I can't let you live. </em>
</p><p>Arthur read the last line:</p><p>
  <em>I must go release the dragon.</em>
</p><p>Merlin. Merlin, the man Arthur had thought was gentle and kind and good and removed from the prince's world of death and politics. <em>That </em>Merlin—he'd released the dragon on Camelot, on his home. His neighbors, his friends. Arthur could still smell the smoke, hear the cries as people burned to death in their own homes, trying desperately to find shelter in the citadel.</p><p>Arthur's teeth hurt, and he realized he was clenching them. He relaxed his jaw, inhaling deeply. "Shall we read the next one?" he asked. Gwen was staring at the journal with wide eyes, as though she could hardly believe it.</p><p>Arthur could hardly believe it.</p><p>"I—I…" She swallowed audibly, and he knew she was thinking of the deaths. How many friends had perished because of Merlin? How many citizens? "I think that would be best."</p><p>Would Merlin admit to his crime? Would he condemn himself, as Arthur was now condemning him? <em>I can't forgive this, Merlin. I can forgive the deception, the lies. You saved Camelot a thousand times over, and for that I will be more merciful than my father ever was…</em></p><p>Did that mean execution? Banishment? How could Arthur even think on this when Morgana and her army of monsters were right around the corner? Everything was crumbling around his ears, shaking the ground beneath his feet. He feared falling—he feared he'd already fallen, and was lying on the ground, broken, wondering how it all had happened so fast. Wondering why everything was so tall, so far above him.</p><p>He began to read.</p><p><em>Kilgharrah is a monster. </em>I <em>am a monster, something I've always suspected. I'm sorry. I'm sorry. My worst fears about the dragon were realized; he did his best to raze Camelot to the ground. He killed… so many. </em>I <em>killed so many, for I was the one to release him. And I let him go! I'm sorry.</em></p><p>Sorry wasn't good enough. Nothing would be good enough, Arthur feared, except punishment. Punishment, vengeance, retribution—for his dead citizens, for those alive who'd lived through this catastrophe. Didn't they deserve justice?</p><p>
  <em>I can't… It is too painful. I can't write about this. Just know that I understand those deaths are on my head. I was not powerful enough to stop him once I released him from his prison. </em>
</p><p>"Then you shouldn't have released him in the first place!" Arthur cried, shaking the diary as though it were Merlin himself, traitorous head bobbing back and forth.</p><p>"Arthur—the guards will hear you," Gwen said, but she didn't correct him. There was conflict in her eyes, a great conflict. It warred within her as it warred within him.</p><p>"I can't believe him. And he confesses as though we should absolve him!" Arthur said. As though saying sorry and confessing to mistakes made them disappear, vanish into the ether.</p><p>"That's not fair," Gwen said. "He's not here to defend himself…"</p><p>"What could he say that would make this better?" the prince demanded. "The deaths of hundreds of people, and all he can say is that he wasn't powerful enough to stop that beast? All he can say is that he's <em>sorry? </em>It's not good enough."</p><p>Gwen's eyes glistened. "You're right," she whispered. "It's not. But—please. Just—just…" <em>Just what? </em>Arthur wanted to say. <em>Just what? </em></p><p>But he didn't. They stared at each other, each trying to take in the fact that their Merlin had killed people—had released the dragon, knowing full well what it would do.</p><p>Arthur continued:</p><p>
  <em>I ended up stopping him, in the end. I became a dragonlord, and I sent Kilgharrah from Camelot. I'm sorry. I can't tell you the details; they pain me, pain me more than anything I have written so far. This all pains me, a great wrenching pain in my heart. </em>
</p><p>Arthur could barely comprehend the words. Dragonlord? <em>Merlin</em> had been in pain? What about the people he'd killed—was responsible for as though he'd breathed the fire himself, burnt down their houses himself. The letters were shaky and blurred with tears, but no pity welled in Arthur as it had before. The prince could feel nothing for this man, this man who he'd trusted, who had lied and defended him, saved his kingdom, and then had released something which had tried to destroy it.</p><p>
  <em>I could not bear to kill the dragon, even having the power. I am a murderer a hundred times over. I deserve death and worse for what I have done. The screams… The stench of burning flesh… </em>
</p><p>"He didn't even kill it?" Gwen said. "How could he… after all of that… He killed the griffon, the Sidhe, Nimueh, Edwin—so many without a hint of remorse. And this is who he lets live?" She had never sounded so bloodthirsty, not to his ears. This, the woman who had told Merlin not to let Uther die.</p><p>But the dragon wasn't a person, wasn't human. And Merlin had let it live.</p><p>Arthur finished the entry.</p><p>
  <em>They haunt me.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>I'm sorry.</em>
</p><p>And his sorry wasn't good enough. Would never, ever be good enough for this.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Hello everyone! I just wanted to firstly thank you so so much for there response. I really appreciate the comments, kudos, bookmarks, and silent readers. </p><p>Second, I wanted to address some questions people have had about the pairing. This fic will be mostly gen with some hints of the pairing (which I'm sure y'all have picked up on). My next point brings me to my third topic: the future of this fic. I'm planning on writing three separate stories in this series, with the pairing being more of a focus later on. So if romance isn't your thing, don't worry about it. And whatever romance does get written will be more of a prominent side dish than the whole point of the story. </p><p>Hope that clears things up. Questions: how was Arthur's reaction? Did the dragon and Uther lying reveal seem good?</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0007"><h2>7. Chapter 7</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <strong>Chapter Seven: No Good Deed Goes Unpunished</strong>
</p><p>Even after Gwen left—looking conflicted, sorrow in her eyes—Arthur stayed awake, staring out the window down at the courtyard. His kingdom slept; the only evidence of life was in the flickering torches and guards that periodically shifted. This kingdom, a beautiful kingdom, one he had been raised to serve and protect and cherish.</p><p>How many good deeds did one have to do before they outweighed the evil ones? Arthur had thought about it often—his mistakes, his triumphs. Was his legacy going to be one of destruction or one of happiness?</p><p>And most importantly, did Merlin's deeds outweigh his sins? He had saved Camelot—Arthur, Uther, everyone—many times over. The griffon, Edwin, Sigan, Sofia, the afnac, Nimueh. Were those heavier than releasing the dragon?</p><p><em>If a man snaps and kills another, does the fact that he helped people before negate the crime? </em>Arthur didn't think so, and how could he make an exception for one man? Merlin, Merlin, Merlin—his mind swirled with the name, even as others pounded against his skull. Morgana, the Sluagh. His father, who might never get better, though he hoped, every day, that he would.</p><p>(<em>Do you truly hope so, Arthur, even though you know what kind of a man he can be? Others name him tyrant. You yourself have called him unreasonable, and no one can doubt he is full of hatred. Is that the hallmark of a great king? Or even a good one?)</em></p><p>Morgana was coming, and Merlin might be needed to help defeat her. Arthur could see the logic in that. But if he was to punish Merlin anyway, was it right to delay justice?</p><p>Arthur imagined running Merlin through when the servant came with breakfast, and his stomach churned so fiercely he thought he might vomit. He thought of burning him, beheading him, and he could barely picture it. But he knew if it had been any other who'd released the dragon… He would've already arrested them and been preparing to execute them. How could he let Merlin go, knowing that?</p><p><em>I am a murderer a hundred times over… </em>The man had even admitted it. A confession in writing. And what other punishment could Arthur give out except execution for a murderer who'd killed hundreds?</p><p><em>Indirectly, </em>his mind told him. Arthur stood and began to pace. Indirectly, yes. Merlin hadn't breathed the flame or destroyed the homes himself, but he'd known what would happen when he released the beast; he'd seen it in the crystal, and he'd suspected long before then.</p><p><em>Is it any better than what you've done? </em>Arthur had made mistakes, certainly, but nothing that had so caused the death of his people—save, perhaps, the unicorn. He knew some had died from the famine and drought, peasants who couldn't find enough to eat or drink. <em>Aren't those deaths on your shoulders?</em></p><p>Supposing he was playing devil's advocate… He hadn't known for certain what would happen when he slayed the unicorn. He also hadn't caused as much destruction. <em>Is murdering a few hundred better than murdering a few hundred and destroying their homes as well? </em></p><p><em>I also stopped it, </em>he thought. He'd managed to end the curse… with Merlin's help. And he supposed the warlock<em> had</em> become a dragonlord, preventing the dragon from coming to Camelot. How had that happened, exactly?</p><p><em>No time for that now. </em>Arthur continued to circle his chambers, his feet growing cold against the stone. <em>I must decide. Soon—before Morgana comes. </em>He wouldn't face two threats to his people.</p><p>Except—Merlin wasn't a threat, was he? <em>But surely he'd fight back if I tried to kill him, </em>Arthur thought. He might target Camelot's people if Arthur went after him. Might use them as hostages. An untenable situation when he was facing Morgana head-on.</p><p><em>But if I kill him, Gwen would never forgive me. Nor would many of my knights. </em>He'd lose Gwaine for certain—and Lancelot. Percival might follow, and Elyan would likely side with his sister. That left Leon, of his most trusted circle. Unless—they wouldn't have to know it had been Arthur. The prince was fully capable of hiring someone, or leading Merlin to the woods and disposing of him there. No evidence.</p><p><em>That's the coward's way, </em>Arthur thought. Who was he to hide in the shadows like some kind of criminal? Like Merlin himself? Murdering someone in cold blood… <em>No, I would have to make my decision known. I could kill him in secret and use the diary and spell books as proof of my righteousness. No one could dispute them. </em>And he might lose the knights, lose Gwen—but it would be worth it if he could dispense justice for his people.</p><p>That, after all, was one of his main functions—his duty as prince regent. And Merlin couldn't be allowed to continue unpunished for what he'd done. <em>And should he not be rewarded, then, for everything else? </em>A voice pointed out. It seemed logical, sound, but the prince couldn't trust it.</p><p>The warlock had to be punished. If not execution… Banishment, at least. <em>But what kind of justice is that for the families of those who died to the dragon's flame? To know the one responsible for their deaths roams free… </em>And a magic-user to boot. If he were to reveal one of Merlin's crimes, he would have to reveal them all.</p><p>Again, the sickness rose in Arthur, and he collapsed into a chair in front of the dying fire, exhausted. A part of him couldn't believe he was considering this, murdering a man who had saved him a thousand times over. Another part of him couldn't believe he hadn't killed the evil sorcerer already.</p><p>And still a third wanted to go back, longed for the ignorance, the days when Arthur could smile and think on Merlin without this terrible, yawning pit in his gut.</p><hr/><p>Merlin still couldn't find the diary. He'd searched everywhere—<em>again. </em>And now here he was, pacing out in the woods, meant to be gathering herbs. He swept back and forth, nearly spilling the plants he <em>had</em> managed to gather from his basket.</p><p>He'd gotten the runes working without incident, he'd managed to figure out what the Sluagh were and warn Arthur—why did everything have to go sideways <em>now? </em>Just when he felt he might get away with all that he was planning?</p><p>But then, no one had turned him in. No one had said, <em>Look, I've found the sorcerer's diary! </em>No one had accused him, tried to kill him. Perhaps it had simply been lost, and now it was resting somewhere, yet unfound. Or perhaps…</p><p>Perhaps someone had found it and had no intention of bringing it forward. But why? Were they waiting for the right moment to spring it on him, to blackmail him? Having a sorcerer under one's thumb—especially one as powerful as him… It might be too tempting for certain nobles to pass up. <em>Never mind that I won't support them. I'd rather be exposed as a sorcerer than use my magic for ill, as someone's puppet. </em></p><p>But maybe… No, absurd. Merlin nearly tripped over a root with the force of his stride, breaking undergrowth and scaring the squirrels and birds. What if someone had read it and realized that he meant no harm to Camelot? Could it be possible that they were simply keeping his secret safe?</p><p><em>No, I must prepare for the worst possibility. </em>But how? Was there any real point in worrying about it with Morgana looming on the horizon? He could feel the Working, the barrier between world's pulsing and writhing, ready to split at her command. The malice leaked from the other side, saturating the air. It was gathering, becoming stronger. Sometimes it kept him awake at night, the feeling that he was breathing in something heavy, something like smoke or ash. Sometimes he could hear voices, just out of the range of his hearing…</p><p>He shook his head. If anyone had found his diary (assuming he hadn't simply lost it), they hadn't come forward. Merlin didn't have time to investigate it; there was still too much to do. So he would continue as he had, and if the time came when whoever it was did something with the information… Well, Merlin didn't know what he would do. But he'd have to do <em>something. </em></p><p>He took a deep breath, enjoying the cool air of the forest, and unfolded his list of herbs. He still needed mugwort, creeping bellflower, and red elder-berry plants. Not to mention the plants needed for a more… illicit ritual.</p><p><em>At this rate, I'll have performed all of the different kinds of magic to help Camelot. </em>Complex runes, magically-imbued plants… They would certainly know a sorcerer resided in Camelot. But what would they do about it? With the shield, Morgana lost the advantage of the Sluagh's flight. It would turn into a long, drawn-out siege.</p><p>And what would Arthur do, knowing a sorcerer was in the citadel? Would he use resources to search for Merlin even with Morgana on their doorstep? Merlin didn't think so, but he couldn't know for sure. Arthur could be blindsided by magic, sometimes. He'd likely think the sorcerer put the shield up for their own benefit, not Camelot's.</p><p>He found the mugwort and red elderberries quickly enough. <em>So all that's left is… </em>the creeping bellflower, allium, and goldenrod. The latter two he would imbue with spells, which he would then put in the citadel's grain storage. If they were to have a siege, he would make sure Camelot was well-stocked.</p><p>With the weather, it was difficult to find the proper plants. But once he did, he coaxed them back into bloom with a bit of magic (they had lost their flowers with the encroaching cold). Then, he plucked them up and tucked them into his satchel, right at the bottom.</p><p>After finding the other herbs for Gaius, he trekked back to the citadel, grateful to be farther from Morgana's Working. The itch in the back of his mind lessened with the distance, though it was strong enough now that he could still feel it, even when he wasn't trying.</p><p>He nodded to the guards at the entrance to the courtyard, and they nodded back. Tiny figures raced along the walls—soldiers likely preparing for the upcoming battle. As he made his way to the physician's chambers, someone called out behind him.</p><p>"Merlin!" The servant turned to see Gwaine trotting up behind him, grin spread wide over his face.</p><p>"Hi, Gwaine," he said, trying to smile back. It was difficult with how miserable he felt—his diary gone, the Sluagh approaching, magic still to do. "How are you?"</p><p>"Fine." He clapped Merlin's shoulder. "And yourself? It looks like Arthur's been working you to the bone." Then, seeing the satchel, he amended, "Or Gaius."</p><p><em>If he comments on how tired I look again… </em>Merlin didn't know what he'd do, but he was exhausted enough without everyone pointing it out to him. "We have to stock up before it gets too cold for the plants," he explained. "And, you know, because of Morgana." He lowered his voice at the end. It still felt wrong to acknowledge her in the open, somehow, though he wasn't sure why. Maybe after the year of hiding her treachery, always guarding his true feelings and what he said about her…</p><p>"Ah, we beat her before, and we'll beat her again," Gwaine said, though Merlin could see the troubled look in his eye. The knights had been running around making preparations, and they knew how badly the fight could go for them. Arthur had done his best to relay the important information about the Sluagh to all of them (information Merlin had given him), and their odds weren't good.</p><p><em>Well, they wouldn't be good if they didn't have me. </em>But they did—and so their odds were… Maybe still not good. But better, at the very least.</p><p>"Right," Merlin said. "I mean, it can't be any worse than defeating an immortal army." He fiddled with the strap of his satchel as he said this. It definitely could be worse. <em>Especially if the shield doesn't work. Or any of my other spells don't work. </em>If his plan to increase their food supplies failed, the citadel's people might be doomed to a slow starvation.</p><p>"That's the spirit!" Gwaine said, clapping his shoulder again. "Anyway, we were hoping to go out to the tavern tonight. Since everyone's been stressed about Morgana, I thought maybe we should relax a little."</p><p>"I don't know…" Merlin glanced up at the castle, avoiding his friend's gaze. He didn't want to see the disappointment there, or worse—hurt. "There are so many things I have to do—potions for Gaius, bandages, salves…" Really, he planned on enchanting the grain stores tonight (though he did still have to do those things for Gaius, who refused to let him shirk his apprentice duties).</p><p>"Mate." Gwaine patted his arm. "You need to relax. You're running yourself into the ground. I don't know if it's the princess or Gaius or Morgana, but we've all noticed how tired and busy you are." It didn't take a genius to guess who "we all" was—Gwaine, Percival, Elyan, maybe Leon. Lancelot likely would've been a part of the group, too, if he hadn't known exactly what was going on.</p><p>"Why does everyone keep saying that?" Merlin complained, turning away. "I'm not anymore tired than usual."</p><p>"You almost fell asleep on the training grounds the other day," Gwaine pointed out. "Have a few drinks with us—loosen up for one night. You're a lightweight, so I promise you'll sleep like a babe afterward."</p><p>"I can't afford a night of drinks," Merlin said. He began to try and walk toward the physician chambers again, but Gwaine stepped into his path.</p><p>"Then I'll pay," he said, raising his hands.</p><p>Merlin scowled. "That's not what I meant." He <em>meant </em>he was too busy. Too busy for anything but work—there would be time for drinking <em>after </em>they stopped Morgana. Assuming they did stop her.</p><p>"I'm not asking you to get drunk, Merlin," Gwaine said. "You haven't been to the tavern with us in a while—we've hardly seen you at all. We're worried about you, mate. A night won't kill you."</p><p><em>But it might kill you, if I can't do everything in time. It might kill Arthur. Lancelot. Gwen.</em> <em>Others. </em></p><p>The servant tried to duck around the knight, but he was blocked again. "Gwaine," he warned. "I don't have time for this."</p><p>"No time for friends?" Gwaine asked. "You've become a workaholic. Worse than an alcoholic, in my opinion. At least <em>they </em>know how to have fun." Merlin practically growled at the absurdity of it. With all the lies Gaius had told of him being in the tavern, Arthur probably <em>did </em>think he was an alcoholic. And here Gwaine was getting after him for working too hard, though they were days from a battle.</p><p>"Move," Merlin said. When Gwaine just stood there, the warlock glowered and shoved himself through, bumping into the knight's shoulder and sending him backward a few steps.</p><p><em>I don't have time for this, </em>he thought again. He didn't have time for <em>anything </em>right now—not the magic, not the apprentice work, not serving Arthur. Time was a commodity too precious to waste.</p><p>"Make that tired <em>and </em>irritated," Gwaine said, following him up the stairs.</p><p>Merlin sighed. "I am not <em>tired,</em>" he snapped. At Gwaine's look, he added, "<em>Or </em>irritated. Please, Gwaine, I'm trying to work."</p><p>"Let me help then," Gwaine said as they made it to the door outside the physician's chambers. "It'll be just like old times. Only, instead of polishing boots for the princess, we'll be doing something actually useful."</p><p>The idea itself wasn't bad—it was actually kind of nice, to know he had friends that hadn't forgotten him, even if he hadn't been elevated in status with the rest of them. The only issue was that Merlin wasn't exactly planning on doing physician duties, or rather, he wasn't planning on doing <em>only </em>physician duties. And he wasn't about to practice the spell he'd been learning in front of Gwaine.</p><p>So the warlock offered the knight his best smile. It wasn't convincing, judging from the look on Gwaine's face. "I'm sure your busy with your own duties," he said, and before the knight could protest, he continued. "But a lot of its—difficult work. And I appreciate it. Really. We can go for drinks after all this is over, yeah?"</p><p>Gwaine frowned, his eyes searching Merlin's. "Okay, mate. I won't argue anymore. But I know there's something going on—something more than what you're telling me."</p><p>"Nothing's going on," Merlin denied. "Not everything is a grand conspiracy."</p><p>"It is when it comes to you," he said softly. "No, don't deny it. You're always… apart. Thinking about something else. You know more than you should, sometimes, know where to poke and prod to get answers."</p><p>"I have to go," Merlin said, putting his hand on the handle of the door. Everything inside him was screaming to escape—escape Gwaine's discerning eyes, escape his words. His senses were buzzing, alarmed. "I have tinctures to make."</p><p>"Fine." The knight sighed. He gestured with one hand. "Go, then. I'll let the others know you're not coming."</p><p>Merlin darted inside the physician chambers, and he couldn't help the sense of relief he felt at the door between him and Gwaine. He felt guilty about it, but the knight… Others thought him weak of mind because he liked a good tankard of ale, but there was a sharpness behind his affable exterior. Merlin sometimes forgot.</p><p>"Did you get what I asked for?" Gaius's voice cut through the warlock's thoughts. The older man was standing at his workbench, making something that smelled foul.</p><p>"Yes," Merlin said. Moving to the table, he sorted the plants quickly into piles, leaving the allium and goldenrod in his bag.</p><p>"Hm. Good. Thank you, Merlin," the physician said absently, inspecting the plants. "This will do nicely to help us recover our stores."</p><p>Merlin peaked into his bag—he'd grabbed enough allium and goldenrod to give himself a few practice tries if he needed it. There was no time like the present, he supposed. He could make the tinctures afterward, then enchant the grain stores.</p><p>"What do you have there?" Gaius asked.</p><p>"Something for later," the warlock said, closing his bag. "Don't worry about it."</p><p>"Oh, my boy, I'm always worried about things concerning you."</p><hr/><p>Merlin's experiments with the flowers had gone better than he'd expected. He had sometimes done similar things in Ealdor, when the winters were harsh and they had hardly any food. He could almost <em>stretch </em>the grain they'd stored; what should've lasted a day lasted a week. Others in the village had commented that Hunith seemed to give away too much of her stores to others to have any left for herself and Merlin.</p><p>But with Merlin's magic, that hadn't been the case.</p><p>It was supposed to be impossible to duplicate things that would last, especially food. But the grain tainted with Merlin's magic had always seemed as nourishing as the other kind.</p><p>The spell he was using was technically for growing plants, not duplicating grain. In order to last, however, the grain couldn't be made from just magic—it had to have a base. The other grain, along with the flowers, would provide that base.</p><p>So, flowers tucked into jacket, he made his way to the granary. It was kept out of the way from the castle's main hallway, though the stairway to the cellars wasn't too far. There weren't many guards; stealing grain wasn't high on everyone's list of priorities, especially with Morgana's encroachment.</p><p>Merlin did his best to stay alert as he avoided the few guards he saw, though he was so tired it was hard to pay attention. He slipped into the grain room without much trouble, though he almost immediately tripped once inside. It was dim, and the room was filled with bags of grain. Where would he put all of the extra he produced? It wasn't something he'd considered.</p><p>"Damn," he muttered. Couldn't he just… leave it on the floor? The castle cats kept the mice away. "You know what?" Merlin said to the empty room. "I'll fill this whole place up. Who cares?" There was enough here to last the entire citadel maybe two days—and enough to last the castle two weeks. But Arthur wouldn't let his people starve.</p><p>"And if I need to, I can always make more," Merlin said, putting his hands on his hips. Then, he went over and opened a few of the bags, trying to (unsuccessfully) keep the grain from spilling. The flowers pulsed softly to his senses as he brought them out.</p><p>He didn't know much about flowers, but his book said allium was for good fortune and bounty—the goldenrod for something similar. Merlin kneeled, tucking the small bundles of plants near the bags. He closed his eyes, trying to focus on the magic inside them.</p><p>It had been easy to create more apples when he'd been alone in his room: he'd gone from two to three to five to eight. (He wasn't sure how he would explain this to Gaius if the physician saw. Why would he ever need eight apples?) This was a similar principle. Just… More.</p><p>"<em>Alan felaæ hwæ," </em>he whispered. As magic began to flow through his hands, he repeated the words. <em>"Alan felaæ hwæ." </em>Mimicking the magic in the flowers helped to direct his own, and soon the grain began multiplying. Sweat beaded on his brow, and his vision fuzzed, but he managed to stay awake. <em>"Alan felæ hwæ." </em></p><p>Merlin didn't know how much time had passed, but the entire room was filled. <em>If anyone looks in here… </em>The grain reached the ceiling and sloped gently to rest where he'd stood. His legs shook. But it was done. He grinned broadly at the pile; this would be enough to keep Camelot from starving as he—and Gaius, Arthur, and the knights—figured out how to drive Morgana and her army off.</p><hr/><p>Arthur fingered the hilt of his sword as he tracked Merlin out of the corner of his eye. It had been difficult that morning, to watch the man who had murdered so many (<em>saved </em>so many) walk free, unmolested. Innocent—or so he appeared to be. He tried not to watch him overtly; the servant was suspicious enough already.</p><p>But Merlin did his chores obliviously, just his normal duties: dusting, sweeping, picking up laundry, re-arranging things. Arthur had been marveling at this for days, this ability to simply blend it, to appear normal. Average. Even below average, to some.</p><p>"Ready for a fight with someone, sire?" Merlin asked, glancing at him as he bent down to retrieve something that he'd dropped.</p><p>Arthur's fingers stilled, and he stiffly dropped his arm down to his side. "No." <em>I'm ready to execute someone. </em>He couldn't believe he was looking at the person who'd released the dragon, who'd condemned so many to death. <em>I could do it now. He's barely even paying attention. </em></p><p>His hand balled into a fist.</p><p>"Could've fooled me," Merlin said, raising his eyebrows at the fist. Arthur flexed his hand. He itched to punish the sorcerer for his crimes—to <em>hurt </em>him, as Arthur had been hurt, as his citizens had been hurt. His mouth twitched. "Has something happened?"</p><p>"No," Arthur repeated, teeth grinding. He had a council meeting soon—he needed to check on preparations, make sure everything was ready for Morgana. They had managed to raise troops, gather supplies, but still Arthur worried. What if it wasn't enough?</p><p><em>You know it will be, if you let Merlin live. He hasn't failed you before, </em>a voice said.</p><p><em>Failed? He failed when he allowed my citizens to die in the flames! </em>he shot back at himself.</p><p><em>Just like you failed when you allowed Uther to murder those same citizens, burning them just as the dragon did? </em>He growled, shaking his head. This was the time to be deliberate and clear-headed. Instead he found himself arguing with his own mind—it was madness, sheer madness.</p><p>"You'll defeat her, Arthur," Merlin said. Arthur realized the man was standing closer, and he resisted the urge to shy back from the—the murderer (<em>Camelot's savior</em>). "You have before. Her hate makes her weak, makes her blind. You have so many people who will support you—given freely, willingly. Morgana must bribe and threaten to get anyone to follow her, but everyone knows you're going to be great. They're not waiting to turn on you—and that's why you'll win."</p><p>He smiled gently, hope in his eyes, and Arthur closed his mouth with an audible <em>clop. </em>Had he been more worried about Morgana (and honestly, with this whole situation, he knew he should've been), the little speech <em>would've </em>made him feel better.</p><p>Now, it just made him feel guilty. "That—that means more than you know, Merlin," he managed, and Merlin turned away, though there was still a soft worry in his eyes. <em>Those eyes aren't waiting to turn on you. </em>But wasn't that what <em>Arthur </em>was doing?</p><p><em>No! </em>Merlin was a traitor: he had lied and schemed and <em>killed </em>people, innocent people, and he needed to be punished.</p><p>(He had loved and lost and <em>saved </em>people, innocent people, and he needed to be rewarded. Cherished for the ally he was, supported for all he'd done for Arthur and Camelot).</p><p>Bile rose in the prince's throat as he watched the servant continue to clean. Lying was like a disease, something that made him physically ill. Had Merlin felt like this, sick with turmoil, when he'd lied to Arthur? To Gwen? To everyone?</p><p>"It's time for my meeting," Arthur said. "I won't require you to attend—I need you to polish my armor—and take out my hounds." Anything to get Merlin <em>away </em>from him, at least for a while. The prince needed to think, to focus.</p><p>"What? But—that's not my job!" Merlin sputtered. That was true: Arthur made him clean the stables and take care of his horse and hounds out of pure spite. But now he did it because he needed <em>peace, </em>damn it.</p><p>"Your <em>job </em>is what I say it is," Arthur declared.</p><p>"But—"</p><p>The prince glared at him sternly. "Don't make me make you muck out the stables as well, <em>Mer</em>lin," he threatened, and Merlin's mouth closed. He face scrunched in a look of awkward irritation, and he squinted at Arthur sourly.</p><p>"Morgana isn't what's bothering you, is it?" he asked, in a fit of insight. Arthur felt panic flash in his chest, tightening his ribs. <em>Does he suspect? Does he know—somehow? </em>Merlin's powers in the diary had seemed almost limitless; did he have some way of knowing what Arthur knew?</p><p><em>Don't be ridiculous. You're overreacting. </em>"Just do as I ask," Arthur said before he left his chambers, his red cloak billowing in his wake. He barely resisted the urge to slam the doors behind him, and the guards outside jumped at his abrupt exit. <em>Damn that man. Damn him and damn what he's done. </em>Why did everything have to be so—so complicated?</p><p>Arthur barely realized when he made it to the council chambers. The guards bowed to him, opening the door to let him in. The councilors stood as he entered, rising as a sign of respect. He summoned his best fake smile and gestured for them to be seated as he took his place at the head of the table.</p><p>The rest of the meeting passed quickly, Arthur for once focusing on the problem of Morgana instead of the problem of Merlin. Making battle plans, figuring supplies, ensuring the troops were well supplied—these were the things he'd been made for, not dealing with lying sorcerers.</p><p>Everything was well in order, it seemed. There had been no additional news at the border, nothing new to report on the Sluagh (though if there had been, he suspected Merlin would've already told him). Arthur left the council chambers feeling better on that front, but far worse on what to do with Merlin.</p><p>
  <em>Do I kill him? Banish him? Imprison him? </em>
</p><p>
  <em>(Do I reward him? Knight him? Make him a lord?)</em>
</p><p>The prince didn't know.</p><hr/><p>That night, Arthur left a note in his room, telling Guinevere that he had gone out to clear his head, that he wasn't interested in reading from the diary tonight, though she could if she was so inclined.</p><p>Arthur dressed lightly. He took a dark-colored cloak with him. Hopefully it would help him blend into the shadows, should he need it. He checked that his daggers were in his boots, that his sword was attached securely to his hip.</p><p><em>Am I really doing this? </em>He poked his head out of his chambers; the guards were at the end of the hall, looking for potential assassins or thieves. Quiet as a mote of dust, Arthur slipped down the other end of the hall. He still had to pass guards, but these would be easier to sneak by.</p><p>He kept his breathing silent, his footsteps soft. The prince descended the castle until he reached the physician's chambers. He thought it might have been better to sneak through the window, but he suspected that would have proven difficult. As Arthur reached for the door handle, it opened.</p><p>Only his quick reflexes saved him. He sprang backward, behind the door and into the shadows, as Merlin peered out from behind the door. His manservant glanced in either direction, but the door hid Arthur from his sight.</p><p>The servant stepped out, letting the door shut behind him. He moved forward without spotting Arthur, using the dim light from the window to see. Merlin began to make his way down to where the stairs were.</p><p><em>What the hell is he doing sneaking about my castle at this time of night? </em>But Arthur could see nothing to do but follow him. He did his best to shadow Merlin from the farthest he could without losing him, though the secret sorcerer moved swiftly and silently—far more steady on his feet that Arthur had ever seen him.</p><p>The prince tailed him down, down into the castle. Merlin took care of the guards with ease, and Arthur watched, heart in his throat, as the sorcerer's eyes turned a bright, unambiguous gold. (Also, he realized he might have to start overseeing the guards' training; they shouldn't have been falling for such ridiculous, obviously magical tricks.)</p><p><em>I should do it now. </em>Sweat broke out on Arthur's brow as Merlin placed his hand on the door in front of him. They were deep in the castle—even deeper than the dungeons, by Arthur's estimation. The prince swallowed. <em>There, in the chamber, wherever it leads, that's where I'll do it. </em></p><p>
  <em>That's where I'll kill him. </em>
</p><p>The lock clicked as it opened, and Merlin slipped inside. A second later, Arthur followed. He eased the door open carefully, closing it behind him with a gentle <em>click. </em></p><p>It led to a magnificent cavern, stalactites clinging to the ceiling and stalagmites rising from the stone ground like towers. The door opened to a ledge overlooking the cave, and precarious-looking stairs wound their way to the chamber's floor.</p><p>Merlin was already making his way down these stairs with a confidence Arthur had rarely seen. His steps were sure, his back straight. Arthur shook when he realized the light source was coming directly from Merlin's hand—some kind of magical light. Proof, right here in front of his eyes, that all he had read was true. It was true that Merlin had released the dragon, true that he was a sorcerer.</p><p>(True that he'd had magic since birth, that he'd used it to save Camelot and Arthur a hundred times over.)</p><p>The light was blue, and it washed over the cave gently, softly, like the light of the moon. It swirled, and Arthur realized he recognized it—it was the same one that had appeared to him when he'd been fetching the Mortaeus flower. <em>It's all been true, every last word in that damn book. </em></p><p>Sometimes it had seemed so distant, reading it. Like a book full of tales, stories of far-away lands and people, people he'd never met and never would meet. But this was real, this was true. Arthur's head spun, but he tightened his grip on his sword handle.</p><p>
  <em>The tale will end here. </em>
</p><p>He followed Merlin down the stairs, stepping lightly—both to remain undetected and so he wouldn't fall. When the sorcerer reached the bottom, Arthur watched as he pulled books out of some nook near the wall, brushing them off with his hand.</p><p>When the prince reached the ground, Merlin was kneeling, absorbed in one of the books. The light floated above him, illuminating his dark hair and pale throat—the throat Arthur was prepared to cut. He could see the man's jugular, blue-green and pulsing faintly. The prince regent unsheathed his sword silently, feeling like a coward.</p><p><em>This is the best way. He won't even know what happened. </em>Simply there one moment and gone the next—a swift, painless death. There was nothing more he could ask from Arthur.</p><p>The prince crept up behind him. He could hear Merlin muttering to himself—and it sounded so normal, as though Arthur had stumbled upon him reading in some alcove, shirking his chores. He raised the sword, bracing his arms. <em>He'll die like any other man. </em>There was nothing special about him, save for these very brief facts: he was a sorcerer, he had lied to Arthur, and he had killed Arthur's people. (He was a friend, he had protected Arthur, and he had saved Arthur's people.)</p><p>Merlin shifted, leaning forward. For a moment, Arthur was afraid that he'd somehow detected something was wrong. But no—he placed his hands on the ground, and by now Arthur was too curious to continue (too afraid, hands shaking, insides quivering. How could he kill his best friend?).</p><p>Gold spread from Merlin's fingertips, brilliant lines of light tracing paths along the floor like sprouting vines. Arthur realized they were following a pattern, and soon an entire rune had lit on the floor. It flared a bright white and settled into a soft gold.</p><p>The prince stared. His father had schooled him briefly in runes—taught him enough to be wary, to know they held exquisite power. <em>Evil things, </em>he'd said. <em>You'll see them in druid camps. They're meant for spells of torture, of summoning the darkest of evils you can imagine. </em></p><p>He never could've imagined how beautiful one might be. It shone like a diluted sun, warm and gentle. It was roughly circular, stretching at least thirty feet across, and it felt… good. Like a hug or a kind word, like hope or a sturdy shield, like a blazing hearth or strong stone walls. Like <em>safety. </em>Arthur basked in this feeling—for just a moment, only a moment—because it was unlike anything he'd ever felt before. His sword lowered almost against his will as Merlin stood, walking around the outside to inspect the rune.</p><p>The prince darted behind one of the stalagmites to hide himself. A look of utter concentration was upon Merlin's face—his brow furrowed slightly, his lips pressed together. Rarely had Arthur seen him so focused as he examined the lines of the rune, touching it here and there as though to check something.</p><p>And, if Arthur were true to himself, the man was almost as beautiful as the rune itself. His eyes shone lightly in its glow, and his skin adopted a strange luminescence. The precious feeling of safety and goodness only strengthened as the sorcerer walked around the rune. Arthur thought he could see Merlin's veins, streaking down his arms and in his neck, pulsing with golden light. He looked entrancing, like a fairy out of the stories Uther had used to warn Arthur of the dangers of magical creatures.</p><p>The sorcerer didn't move awkwardly, as he often did in the prince's presence; he moved with an odd sort of grace, gangly limbs coordinated, muscles shifting just below the skin. They, too, seemed almost to glow, and Arthur found himself mesmerized by the man's form, contrasted so sharply and wonderfully with the dark rock. It took his breath away—the expression of focus, the way his body moved, the golden light, the feeling of peace.</p><p>And then the moment faded as the rune's light faded, and the weaker blue light over Merlin's head became the cavern's only source of illumination. Arthur could make out broken chains in the corner, and he realized this was where the dragon had been imprisoned.</p><p>But the thought didn't fill him with anger, with rage, as it had before. Here in this cavern, here with this strange and wondrous man, Arthur understood. He understood like he hadn't before—because he had refused to let himself understand. His servant had done his best. Untrained, left nearly on his own, with nothing but a cautious, elderly man to guide him. The prince felt that the words of the journal were sinking in—the entirety of them, the desperation, the tears—assimilating inside him. Merlin had done his best, but he'd never faltered. The prince couldn't say the same.</p><p>Had Arthur truly been prepared to kill him?</p><p>He stayed motionless, sword hand limp at his side, as Merlin took the books up with him out of the cave. Merlin, the man who had been willing to trade his life for his, the man who had almost died for him—been executed for him, because Arthur had no doubts now about what would've happened if the sorcerer had been exposed.</p><p>The horror continued to dawn slowly. Would Merlin have even stopped him if he had known Arthur was trying to kill him? Or would he have let Arthur behead him, burn him, run him through? The idea of him resisting seemed laughable now, though Arthur had seriously been considering before. Taking his citizens as hostages, attacking simultaneously with Morgana? His thoughts had been so muddled, so polluted with his obsession, his vicious prejudice against magic.</p><p>In the dark of the cave—it was pitch-black now without Merlin's light—Arthur sheathed his sword. He wondered what the rune had been for, and he recalled Merlin writing in his diary about taking risks. What was this magic, which had given him such an impression of safety, going to do?</p><p>He committed it to memory. Arthur wondered, briefly, why he was so against telling Merlin, even now that he'd had the revelation about the man's character. He couldn't be certain if it was because he wanted Merlin to come to him, to trust him, or something… deeper. More serious.</p><p>Arthur knew he couldn't lie to his knights—or his people—for long. But how he would approach portraying Merlin to them… That would take some consideration.</p><p>And Arthur realized, suddenly, that he was speaking in terms of letting Merlin use his magic freely, in Camelot. Even though his father still lived, even though Morgana loomed, ever-present…</p><p><em>Whatever happens, Merlin—I will not let anyone in Camelot touch you. </em>Not as Arthur had almost done. The sorcerer deserved better, and if that wasn't the strangest thought…</p><p>He stood there a few moments, relishing in these new emotions, before attempting to leave. The prince quickly understood that it had been a mistake to let the light go without him. He groped around in the dark before finally finding the stairs. He used his hands to help guide him, and he touched each step before placing his weight down.</p><p>At the top, he could see the faint, flickering light of a torch between the door and the ground. He reached toward it gratefully, ready to go to bed, before he realized—with a flash of anxiety—that it was locked.</p><p><em>Oh God, I'm so stupid. </em>He'd forgotten that Merlin had unlocked it. Was he going to be stuck here for the rest of the night? And what if the sorcerer found out he'd been down here, spying? He'd have to confront all he'd learned, confront Merlin, moments before their confrontation with Morgana. Neither could afford the distraction.</p><p>To be fair, though, Arthur had already been very distracted by Merlin.</p><p>He glared at the door. There was nothing for it; he couldn't afford to be stuck here all night—or all of tomorrow. Arthur began to pound and kick at the door, more to make noise than anything else. He yelled for someone to open the door, knowing the guards would likely hear him. This went on for ten, twenty minutes before he stepped back.</p><p>Perhaps he <em>could </em>break the door down, if he went about it the right way.</p><p>He backed up farther (careful not to get close to the edge) before running at the door, shoulder primed to hit it—</p><p>And he launched himself into the bright light of the hallway, nearly flinging himself onto his face from the momentum. Three guards stood around him. One had a ring of keys dangling from his hand, and all had their mouths agape.</p><p>"…Sire?" one asked tentatively.</p><p>Arthur straightened, dusting himself off. He cleared his throat, feeling more embarrassed than he ever had in his life, as the three stared at him in bewilderment. "Only checking the security of the room," he said gruffly. "I misplaced my keys and locked myself in."</p><p>The guard holding the keys furrowed his brow in confusion. "But how? You lock it from the outside—pardon my impertinence, sire." Damn. That was a good point.</p><p>Arthur's mouth twitched. He was about to sound supremely stupid, but it was better than the alternative—the truth that he'd followed a known sorcerer down into the cave, prepared to kill him, but had decided not to. "I locked it before I closed the door," he said. "To prevent interruptions."</p><p>The same guard tilted his head. "…But you <em>locked </em>yourself in, my lord…" Was this why Merlin sounded like half his brain was gone most of the time? Arthur longed to wipe that befuddled, slightly judgmental look off the guard's face. He was the <em>prince, </em>goddammit—the prince regent, no less. That was supposed to mean respect.</p><p>"So I did," he admitted through gritted teeth. "And I thank you for your service and vigilance."</p><p>"…Of course, sire," one of the other guards said. But they all continued to stare, slightly bewildered that their prince regent had somehow managed to lock himself into a mysterious room looking for security threats in the middle of the night.</p><p>"That was a dismissal, men," Arthur said, and they nodded and bowed quickly, their eyes wide. They left without a backward glance, as though the prince's apparent stupidity was contagious.</p><p><em>This is all Merlin's fault, making me look ridiculous… </em>But the thought, usually so normal and cheerful, seemed cold and disingenuous when, minutes before, Arthur had been prepared to kill him.</p><p>The prince regent sighed, squared his shoulders, and began to make his way back to his rooms.</p><hr/><p>Gwen didn't know what to do. It had seemed so clear-cut before: Merlin had lied, yes, but he'd also used his magic for good. He'd saved them, and he'd been born with it—without a choice. But now that she knew he'd released the dragon…</p><p>She could understand, on some level, why he'd done it. His mother had been on the line; he'd taken a magically-binding oath. He'd owed the dragon, and Kilgharrah had given him the knowledge to save Camelot fifty times over. And in his position, she thought she would likely have done the same.</p><p>Still, it was hard to accept, and she knew Arthur was taking it hard. The note he'd left last night had worried her—she hadn't expected him to cancel so abruptly—but she'd caught sight of him this morning. He'd looked well enough, if stressed. Certainly nothing out of the ordinary.</p><p>She scrubbed the cloth vigorously. Fortunately, she'd grown calluses long ago—the hot water no longer bothered her, as it had when she'd been a young girl. Nor did the repetitive motion with the brush peel the delicate skin of her palms—it was tougher and used to the work.</p><p><em>I just don't know enough! </em>She fretted, adding more soap to the basin. If only she could speak to Merlin about it all… But no, she didn't want to betray Arthur's trust like that. <em>You're already betraying Merlin's, </em>she told herself. <em>You should've convinced the prince to tell him. </em></p><p>Gwen sighed, itching her cheek with her forearm so she wouldn't get suds all over her face. <em>If you can't speak to Merlin about the magic, about everything, what can you do? </em>She wished, not for the first time, that she were more educated. She knew her sums—and Merlin had taught her to read, and writing had been easier after that. But she still lacked so much <em>knowledge.</em></p><p><em>You can get it, though, can't you? You have the keys to unlock those doors, Gwen. </em>It had been something her father had used to say when she asked something she could figure out on her own. There wasn't a chance Geoffrey would let her use the library—she was a simple peasant girl, after all—but Gaius…</p><p><em>How to do it without him becoming suspicious? </em>That would be the difficult part.</p><p>Gwen stood and began to rinse and wring out the clothes. She'd hang them to dry and come collect them when they were finished. Drying her hands on her skirt, she cleaned up her washing station, giving the others in the room friendly smiles.</p><p>As she made her way toward the physician chambers—dodging other servants along the way—she pondered for an excuse. It wasn't enough to say she was interested in learning about magic; saying something like that would get her executed for certain.</p><p>Nerves rose in her, but she shoved them down. She was harboring a sorcerer now—harboring him with the <em>prince regent</em>. And Gaius knew of Merlin, too; if there was anyone she could speak to about this without repercussions, save Merlin, it was the old physician.</p><p>At the door, she faltered. What if he saw through her? <em>You're being ridiculous. Just go in. </em>Gwen knocked so as to not startle Gaius, and entered.</p><p>The room seemed much the same as it always was: slightly cluttered and heavily scented with herbs. Gaius was in the midst of grinding some mixture, though he looked up at her as she shut the door behind her.</p><p>"Gwen," he greeted. "What can I do for you?"</p><p>For a moment, all she could do was stare. How could he act so normal? How could everything <em>be </em>so normal? Merlin had magic, he'd saved them, he'd released the dragon. He was like Morgana (<em>oh, please, let him not be like Morgana</em>), but only time would tell how much.</p><p>Gwen didn't know if she could handle another best friend betraying her, betraying Camelot, and turning to violence and hatred. She had loved Morgana, and she loved Merlin—she wouldn't be able to stand it.</p><p>"Guinevere?" Gaius prompted, and Gwen managed to summon a smile.</p><p>"Sorry, Gaius, I'm a little distracted today. And what I wanted to ask you… It's not, well—it's—" She struggled to find the words. "It's about magic," she blurted, and clapped her hand over her mouth. She hadn't meant to put it so bluntly.</p><p>Gaius blinked at her, mouth a tiny "o" of surprise, but he recovered himself quickly. "What about it? I'm afraid you and I both know that it's very much illegal. What has possessed you to even ask such a thing?"</p><p>Gwen bit her lip, her mind racing. "It's Morgana. I just—with everything that's happening, I felt I should know more about it. I know it's… not technically allowed, but…"</p><p>"That's putting it mildly, my dear." Gaius regarded her seriously as one of his eyebrows crept higher on his forehead. "And I'm sorry, but there's nothing for me to tell you; the study of magic has been made punishable by death. Don't risk your head for mere curiosity."</p><p>Frustration welled in her gut. How could he say that to her while he harbored a sorcerer? She closed her eyes briefly to calm herself. <em>He'll never give in if you act like a lunatic. </em>"It's not only curiosity," she said. "I want to be prepared for when Morgana comes—and I want to make sure I know more of magic, so if—so if I see signs of it again, I'll know."</p><p>"See signs of it again?" Gaius asked. He suddenly seemed guarded. "What do you mean?"</p><p>"Only that Morgana's nightmares came true," Gwen said. "I know it now, and I knew it then. I told no one, but I wonder… If I had known more, perhaps I would've been able to help her. Before she—" She couldn't finish the sentence.</p><p>Morgana had been her best friend. She wouldn't have turned her over to the king for anything, but she hadn't known for <em>certain </em>it was magic, after all. So she hadn't told anyone, not even Morgana herself. If she'd known more…</p><p>None of what she was telling Gaius was a lie. She knew that as the words fell from her lips like air from her lungs. How long had she been carrying around these feelings?</p><p>"You mustn't blame yourself," the physician admonished. "Morgana made her own choices." He sighed. "God knows we all tried to help her, in our own ways."</p><p>"But there might be someone else I can help—now. I just don't have the knowledge, like with Morgana." She worded her words carefully. She'd keep her promise to Arthur.</p><p>Gaius turned to her, almost suspicious. "Do you suspect someone?"</p><p>Gwen fumbled. "No," she said quickly. "Not currently. But I don't know what to look for, do I?"</p><p>"No." Gaius sighed. "I suppose you don't. Sit down, my dear. I must finish this, and then we can discuss the topic further."</p><p>Gwen had to stop herself from crowing in victory as she sat at the table, trying to summon her patience. "Do you need any help?" she asked, but he shook his head. She watched his old, skillful hands mix the tincture as he'd done a thousand times. He'd taught her a little of herb lore, and she was pleased that she was able to recognized the plants he was using.</p><p>He bottled it carefully when he was done and blew out the fire. He placed his dirty equipment at one end of the work station and rinsed his hands in a bucket of fresh water he kept in one corner of the room for the exact purpose. Gaius moved to the table and sat across from her, easing himself into his seat with an old man's slow grace.</p><p>"Arthur is regent right now," Gwen said abruptly. "I don't think he would react as harshly as Uther if he were to find out, especially if I were to explain it to him." <em>And with everything else happening. He's been so distracted lately, with Morgana and Merlin and his father…</em></p><p>Gaius's lips tightened, but he nodded. "I think you're right. The prince has always had a merciful heart." The <em>more merciful than the king's </em>went unsaid, but Gwen heard it anyway. "Very well. I have one book I can show you—on the condition that it stays here. You may read to your heart's content, but only in my chambers."</p><p>Gwen tried very hard not to let a huge grin spread over her face. "Thank you, Gaius. You can't know how much this will ease my mind."</p><p>"Don't be so certain, my child. Often, ignorance is more comfortable than knowledge." Gaius got up and moved to the bookshelf. "Uther allowed me to keep this under the pretext that I used it only to defend Camelot from magic. He burned the rest of the books on magic—with their owners, of course."</p><p>She could tell he was trying to keep the bitterness from his tone—trying and failing. Gwen couldn't help but sympathize, shuddering to think of Merlin burning at the stake. <em>Arthur would never, </em>she assured herself. <em>And Uther… </em>She hated to think it, but she didn't think the king would ever be well again.</p><p>"As such," Gaius continued, "I have only the basics, really. No spells, of course, only descriptions of magic and how such things work. You must promise you won't tell anyone I've let you read this." He removed one thick tome from his shelf, carrying it back to the table. Stacking it in front of her, his gaze was stern.</p><p>"You have my word, Gaius," she said. "Truly."</p><p>"Thank you. That means wonders for this old man's heart." Gwen ignored the <em>unlike other young men I could name. </em>She had a feeling she knew. He bustled back to the workstation, and she drew the books closer. The outside didn't show the title, but she found them when she looked inside. The book was called <em>A Basic Guide to Magicks</em>.</p><p>"Is it alright if I start now?" she asked.</p><p>"Go ahead," Gaius said, beginning to pull out different herbs for a new potion.</p><p>Gwen flipped to the first page, and a cloud of dust rose into the air. Coughing, she swept her hand in front of her until the dust dispersed, leaving her with mildly stinging eyes.</p><p>The book appeared to be written by someone called "Cecillia Leofwin." A woman, then. Gwen hadn't ever read a book by a woman before. She squinted down at the tiny print, trying to accustom herself to the old-style script.</p><p>
  <em>This is a beginner's guide to Magicks. In this book, I will be describing the basic schools of magic, mages and their classifications, different focuses, and the structure of Magick Society. It's important to know that the information I cover is very general and broad. I have listed more specialized readings at the back of this guide for those interested. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>Some may wonder at my qualifications, but I assure you I have had adequate schooling. I am a sorceress trained at the Isle of the Blessed under the High Priestesses. Although I never went so far in my training as to become a Priestess myself, I have received certification to perform Magicks as far as Rome itself. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>As I will explain later, Priestess training is extremely versatile. I am qualified in basic defensive and offensive Magicks, as well as Elemental Magicks. I have limited training in Transmutation (though I hold a fascination for this school), and am highly skilled at using Runes. Please allow these qualifications to ease your mind; I am more than capable of explaining the basics. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>Without further ado (I've never particularly believed in long-winded introductions), let's begin. </em>
</p><p>Well. Gwen had no idea what half those words meant. Transmutation? Elemental? If this was what this woman meant by "basic," Gwen didn't know if she would get anything out of this.</p><p>She glanced at Gaius, who was busy preparing what appeared to be a salve. She couldn't believe Uther had let him keep this; it might as well have been a book of spells, with how often it spoke of magic.</p><p><em>Perhaps he chose to look the other way. </em>Uther was a known hypocrite; Gwen wouldn't put it past him to have allowed Gaius to keep the book in case it ended up benefiting him.</p><p><em>You've gotten cynical, Gwen, </em>she scolded herself. She suspected that if anyone ever accused Gaius with this book in front of the king, Uther wouldn't turn a blind eye then. He might've lit the pyre himself.</p><p><em>Odd, though, that the witchfinder never used this. </em>Perhaps the king had known and had told Aredian that the physician had been allowed. <em>Or Gaius hid it. </em>Either were good possibilities. But the physician did have all those books on curses, spells, and magical creatures.</p><p>She kept reading.</p><p>The top of this page was titled "Magic and Its Schools."</p><p>
  <em>Magic, properly defined, is energy that can be accessed to accomplish a goal. This energy can be found from within or outside the body. Often, the energy must be shaped in order to accomplish its task—this is done through spells, rituals, and runes. Anything that helps shape magic is known as a focus. Some mages may use physical focuses, such as staffs, jewelry, or wands, to help with casting. </em>
</p><p>Gwen tilted her head. Energy… She had never thought of magic that way before. And what did "within or outside the body" mean? Which of those applied to Merlin? Or did both?</p><p>
  <em>Magic is broken down into Schools—these define what type of magic is being used, and sometimes what focus is being used as well (as is the case with Runes). </em>
</p><p>
  <em>Healing is often considered the most useful of Magicks, but it one of the hardest to master. It takes intricate knowledge of the human body, as well as the ability to bypass the patient's own energies. While this is easier to do because of the body's natural inclination to heal itself, Healing Magicks take precision, patience, and skill. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>Healers must train for years to become proficient under the eye of watchful master. Healing Magicks are capable of undoing otherwise fatal wounds or illnesses, as well as speeding the rate of the patient's healing. It is most difficult to heal oneself, though some masters are so good at it they hardly age.</em>
</p><p>Interesting that the first School the book explained was healing. Gwen had often thought on the destructive quality of magic, but never its potential for good (at least not before reading Merlin's journal). She wondered how many lives could've been saved in Camelot if people had been allowed to use magic, especially healing magic.</p><p>She kept reading.</p><p>
  <em>Transmutation Magicks refer to the use of magic to turn something into something else. Animation is a sub-class in Transmutation, where the mage takes something that is not alive and makes it alive. It's important to note that transforming a substance into something that's alive is always temporary; it is impossible to permanently animate something. An example of Animation would be a golem, in which a mage animates clay, dirt, stone, or wood to do their bidding. Often, these materials are shaped into a living form—such as a man—before the Animation for ease of movement.</em>
</p><p>It was so intriguing that scholars had actually divided up types of magic, as though it were a proper discipline instead of, well, magic. But she supposed that before Uther, it<em> had</em> been a proper discipline. She wondered whether Merlin would've been taken as some sorcerer's apprentice for training. Or did he even need training, having been born with magic?</p><p>
  <em>Enchantments are by far the most common type of magic. One might enchant a broom to sweep, or water to boil. It is most often described as a sort of "invisible hand." Enchantments may be used to move objects, summon objects, stop things from falling, or throw objects around. This is one of the easiest branches to grasp, and it is one most masters will start with when training apprentices. </em>
</p><p>Gwen could recognize some of the magic she'd seen in these pages. She'd watched sorcerers throw people around—she assumed they might count as objects. Certainly that was what it seemed like the book was describing.</p><p>She glanced outside and realized she was needed elsewhere—she had chores that needed to be done. It had taken her ages to read even that much, what with the tiny script. <em>I'll be back, </em>she promised as she closed the book. Gaius looked over as she stood.</p><p>"Thank you again for letting me read this," she said. "It was… very helpful."</p><p>"You're very welcome," he said, pausing his work. "But you mustn't tell anyone what you read."</p><p>"Of course." She smiled. "My lips are sealed."</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>AN: Thank you all so much for the comments, kudos, and bookmarks! I really appreciate them. Also, Arthur finally chose! I hope it came through with the parentheses and Arthur's parallel thought processes that he was never actually going to hurt Merlin. What did you think of his segment? And Gwen's reaction-as well as the excerpt? How about Merlin and his magic?</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0008"><h2>8. Chapter 8</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <strong>Chapter Eight: Aggravations, Lessons, and Confessions </strong>
</p><p>Merlin could feel the pressure between this realm and <em>Flæsc's </em>building. It was a constant headache, now, pounding inside his skull. He longed to close his eyes and sleep, but that currently wasn't an option.</p><p>And the <em>whispers. </em>The barrier between the realms was so thin he could hear the Sluagh on the other side. The giggles and laughs, high-pitched and manic, accompanied by half-formed words.</p><p>
  <em>So hungry, so hungry…</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Devour the bone and the blood and the juicy tender soul…</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Just let me out, out, out, out—</em>
</p><p>Their malice seemed to follow him like his own shadow, always lurking beneath his feet. Merlin's head (and legs and arms and every inch of him, it seemed) ached, but he tried to focus on the present—this was important. Important to listen.</p><p>"I think it may be well served to go on the offensive, my lord," the man said, gesturing to the border on the map. He wore a smarmy, buttery expression, complimented by greased hair and dark clothes.</p><p>"Arthur, please—at least when we're alone. I might not have known you for long, Uncle, but you're family to me. I can't express how grateful I am that you've come to help advise me," the prince said, patting his bicep in a friendly manner. Agravaine looked as though he might like to cut his entire arm off, though Arthur appeared oblivious. "And I must disagree. Her exact location is unknown, and to cross Essetir's border with such a force would surely be considered an act of war."</p><p>"By whom? The vacuum left by Cenred has yet to be filled; the kingdom is rife with instability. There will be no one to fight you," Agravaine said.</p><p>"My first point still stands." Arthur gestured to the border on the map. "We've no idea where she is."</p><p>Merlin watched this exchange with narrow eyes. The two had decided to privately meet in Arthur's chambers—not just to discuss tactics, but also to get to know one another. Naturally, this meant Merlin had to stand in the corner with a pitcher of wine, refilling their goblets at appropriate intervals. He'd already almost spilled the wine all over the map; he was so tired and achy and distracted it was a miracle he didn't fall flat on his face every time he took a step.</p><p>The warlock couldn't say <em>why </em>exactly Agravaine rubbed him the wrong way. Maybe it was the fact that he'd come out of nowhere, just as Arthur's kingdom was about to fall to ruin. Maybe it was his fake, stone-like smiles that never reached his eyes. Maybe it was the look of hatred Merlin always saw smoldering on his face when he thought no one was looking.</p><p>And <em>uncle. </em>Merlin hadn't known about any uncles—and on Arthur's mother's side, no less. The prince had always been blind-sided when it came to family. He adored his father, despite the man's atrocities, and Merlin ventured to say it might be worse with his mother. The prince had almost killed Uther over something Ygraine's "spirit" had said.</p><p>He noticed Agravaine's goblet getting low and stepped forward to fill it. Agravaine didn't even spare him a glance, and Merlin resisted the urge to pour it down his lap.</p><p>"Yes, but if you took a contingent to comb these woods, we could strike before she forms her army," Agravaine said. "Morgana would never gather enough strength to harm Camelot."</p><p>"You underestimate magic, Uncle," Arthur said, sipping his wine slowly. They were both sat at his table, a map of Camelot and adjacent kingdoms in front of them. The prince was dressed casually. "Morgana could've easily hidden her base of operations from us. Then, my men would be worn and tired for nothing. And that's assuming she doesn't have a plan for if we decide to do just as you suggest. She has multiple sorcerers on her side, as well as many mercenaries; we don't know what they might be able to accomplish, especially together."</p><p>Merlin was surprised to hear him speak so rationally and calmly about magic. But then, Arthur had always had a head for battle strategies. And he was right: Morgana could easily ambush and kill men Arthur sent looking for her. The only reason Leon and Lancelot had made it back was because they had kept their presence quiet. Anything louder and Morgana would've killed them.</p><p>"It seems like a bad idea, Arthur, to simply wait for her to attack Camelot," Agravaine said. "We shouldn't let her dictate the battle; we should fight on <em>our </em>terms."</p><p>Perhaps Merlin's bad feeling about him was unjustified. Perhaps he was being paranoid. But when he saw the two interact… There was something missing from the man, something warm and vital. Agravaine didn't love Arthur—neither did he respect or even like him. Merlin doubted he had any love for Camelot, either.</p><p>"We aren't letting her dictate the battle," Arthur disagreed. "We're readying our defenses. No army has yet taken Camelot, and she will not be the first. We have sentries and patrols to warn us if she strays too closely. Don't mistake preparation for idleness, Uncle."</p><p>"I can see you won't be swayed." Agravaine regarded Arthur with serious, dark eyes. "Determination is a trait I admire in a man." <em>Oh, I bet you do, </em>Merlin thought uncharitably.</p><p>Agravaine had arrived a few days hence, and he'd done nothing save compliment and flatter the prince. Arthur seemed blind to it; again, Merlin suspected that the connection Agravaine had to his mother was involved. Not that the servant blamed him. If his mother had died and he'd been stuck with a murderous megalomaniac, he would've been eager to latch onto his mother's memory, too.</p><p>It didn't change the fact that Agravaine was so fishy he might even have gills underneath his high-collared coat.</p><p>"As do I," Arthur said. "And I appreciate your advice. It eases my mind to know someone with your experience is here to help guide me."</p><p>"Of course. What else could I have done when I heard my nephew had become regent?" Agravaine smiled his cold smile. "I knew right away you would need people you trusted to speak with."</p><p>For some reason, Arthur glanced in Merlin's direction as this was said. The servant took it as a cue that Arthur's goblet needed more wine, so he came and topped it off (almost tripping over his own tired feet on the way).</p><p>"You're right," Arthur said. "I know what a benefit allies can be in protecting Camelot." He glanced at Merlin again, but the warlock just raised an irritated eyebrow. He was tempted to make some sort of ridiculous expression—Agravaine couldn't see him, after all, and Arthur could—but he managed to refrain.</p><p>It was just Arthur acting weird and staring at him. Again. Which Merlin still didn't understand, but he had bigger things to be concerned with than the prince losing his mind.</p><p>"Precisely. A toast, then, to allies." Agravaine held up his goblet.</p><p>Arthur mirrored him, smiling warmly. "To allies," he said. They bumped glasses and drank. For some reason, Merlin felt as though he were missing something. They waited a beat in silence before Arthur asked, "What do you know of magic, Uncle?"</p><p>Merlin almost jumped out of his boots. Of all the people he'd decided to ask about magic, Arthur had chosen the suspicious newcomer over him or Gaius? The servant would've been hurt by it, but the hope that Arthur might change his mind on magic had slowly been fading since Morgana's betrayal.</p><p>It whispered in the back of his mind, but he tried not to think of it. <em>Arthur will change. He'll see what magic really is—I can reveal myself then. </em>He rubbed his temple with one hand; his headache was growing minutely. It was hard to focus on the conversation with the whispers, just loud enough to put him on edge. And why ask about magic anyway?</p><p>"It's evil, certainly. I have never known a sorcerer who didn't use it for his own benefit, even before the purge," Agravaine said. For some reason, Arthur didn't jump at the chance to agree. Instead, he swished the wine in his goblet thoughtfully.</p><p>"Truly? Not a single one?" he asked. Merlin blinked; that hadn't been the response he'd been anticipating. He recalled the multiple occasions where the prince had confessed to him that nothing good would come from magic, that it was corrupting and evil.</p><p>Where had <em>that </em>Arthur gone?</p><p>"No." Agravaine shook his head. "Why do you ask?" In the entire conversation, this was the only thing the servant could agree on with the slimy man—<em>yes, Arthur, why? </em></p><p>"I find myself desiring to know of my enemies, Uncle," Arthur said. He still wasn't meeting Agravaine's eyes, instead staring deeply into his goblet—as though it contained some great secret. "My father was… correct in keeping me ignorant in my younger years, but I must know more of magic in order to defeat it."</p><p>There was something odd in his face, though, as though he'd swallowed something sour. As though… he were lying. But what could he be lying about? Merlin's mind whirled slowly, trying to reach a conclusion through his pain and tiredness. It was hard to think with the voices. <em>Why </em>would Arthur lie?</p><p>"I don't know how much I can tell you," Agravaine said. "I was no expert before the Purge, and I am even less knowledgeable now. Forgive me."</p><p>Arthur waved his hand. "It's no matter. I just—she summons such creatures, creatures we can only read of in books. And she wields magic more powerful than most sorcerers I've fought."</p><p>"I can sympathize with your plight." Agravaine reached across the table to put a comforting hand on Arthur's forearm. It made Merlin's skin crawl. "But perhaps it's for the best. Magic… It lures you in, makes you its slave. Soon, you're merely a shell for something wicked, a servant of evil."</p><p>The warlock kept his breathing quiet, though he longed to defend himself. He raised one hand to his head and rubbed his temple, trying to ease the ache. He'd heard too much similar rhetoric to let it bother him—and he'd heard it from people he liked, too. Hell, Arthur was usually the one talking about how horrible magic was, and how it corrupted even good people.</p><p>"You're right. Perhaps it is for the best," Arthur said, pulling away. He glanced at the window and sighed regretfully. "And we must depart—I have my knights to see to—and my newly recruited soldiers."</p><p>"Of course." Agravaine stood and gave Arthur a little bow. "It was lovely getting to know you more, Arthur."</p><p>The prince smiled. "And you, Uncle."</p><hr/><p>"<em>O drakon, e male so ftengometta tesd'hup'anakes!" </em>Merlin's dragontongue tore through the night. It always rose within him with force, more like a storm than anything else. His dragonlord powers were so much more alien to him than his magic. They came from separate places: his magic from all over, concentrated next to his heart; his dragonlord breath from deep in his gut.</p><p>Merlin waited, wondering if he would be able to get a little shut-eye before Kilgharrah showed up. Though cold, the ground somehow seemed inviting. Like if he just laid down for a second…</p><p>The feel of the dragon growing closer stopped his thoughts of sleep. He peered above him to see a great form blotting out the stars. It descended swiftly, color bleeding into Kilgharrah's scales as the moon illuminated them. Merlin braced for the wind, and he wasn't disappointed when the dragon's wings blew a great gust into his face.</p><p>"Young warlock," Kilgharrah greeted, dipping his head. His great golden eye regarded him, and Merlin felt something like concern through their bond. "You—"</p><p>"If you mention how tired I look," Merlin interrupted, tone deadly calm, "I will blow something up."</p><p>"I was merely going to say that you must be hard at work. I have never seen you so… worn," the dragon said mildly. Something like offense leaked into his tone, and he lifted his head back up. Merlin was too exhausted to deal with his wounded pride, though.</p><p>"Yes, well, I've defeated magical creatures before—destroyed immortal armies, thwarted kings' plans, even stopped Morgana. But the feeling the Sluagh gave off… I will not let Camelot be caught unawares." Merlin shivered, though he wasn't sure it was from the cold.</p><p>"Your prudence does you credit," the dragon said. It was nice to hear, after all the ominous warnings Gaius had given him. "The witch plays with fire in dealing with such creatures."</p><p>Merlin rubbed his face. "She never could leave well enough alone," he said. "Have you news of her? Or her whereabouts?"</p><p>It was hard to tell with his dragon face, but Kilgharrah seemed to grimace. "I apologize, young warlock, but I can only sense her vaguely; strong magic shields her. But her Working grows horribly strong. The portal will be rent before long."</p><p>"I know. I can feel it, too. I just… I need to know what she's up to. What kind of magic is stopping you from seeing her?"</p><p>"Complex wards. It is more a high priestess's work than Morgana's own—I suspect Morgause didn't leave her without resources when she perished," the dragon replied. Seeming to sense they might be talking for a while, he sat down, startling a rabbit from where it'd been hiding in the brush.</p><p>"Then there's no way to know?" Merlin asked. He wanted to know her plans, her tactics. How many mercenaries did she have exactly? Had the number of sorcerers with her grown? How equipped were they? "What about…" He hesitated. Kilgharrah had seemed so angry when he'd first done it. "Sending my soul out?"</p><p>But instead of becoming irritated, the dragon snorted. Which was perhaps more insulting. "And put yourself at risk? I would not advise it."</p><p>"But it's possible?" Merlin pressed. "I could find her base, see what she's planning? Spy?" It was the one advantage he missed now that Morgana was no longer living in the castle. Sneaking about, learning what he needed to from her meetings with Morgause. He felt blind, now. Maybe that was why he was so desperate to set up defenses.</p><p>"Perhaps…" The dragon cocked his head now, thoughtful instead of derisive. "If you were to do so purposefully. I doubt the wards will protect against soul-walking; usually such things prevent scying and similar magicks. This is different enough you would likely be able to bypass them."</p><p>Encouraged, Merlin braved the question. "Could you… help me?" he asked. He sat in the grass in front of the dragon, his legs tired from all of the nights he'd spent sneaking around the castle instead of resting.</p><p>"Help you?" Kilgharrah repeated. "You have soul-walked before, young warlock. A dragon cannot perform such a feat; only human mages are capable of such things, and never by accident. You are the first to do such a thing."</p><p>Great—Merlin was different from other sorcerers in one more way, now. At least this might give him an edge, unlike some of the differences that had almost gotten him killed. "You must know something about it," Merlin said. "I've only ever soul-walked in my sleep, Kilgharrah. I need help to do it purposefully."</p><p>"Very well. I will tell you what I can," the dragon said. "Soul-walking requires a trance-like state to be effective—much like sleep, or so I've been told. The mage must relax and loosen their magic. But even as they let go, they must hold on. One should never drift while soul-walking; a mage never knows where they might end up." Here he paused and gave Merlin a pointed look.</p><p>"I was asleep!" the warlock protested. "It wasn't my fault."</p><p>The dragon grunted, unconvinced. "As you say. In their trance, the mage must never forget their goal: where or who they need to send their soul to. Like I mentioned before, the mage will have access to their magic as they soul-walk—one of the advantages of soul-walking. But should anyone sense you, Merlin—should Morgana detect you… The consequences would be dire."</p><p>Merlin stared up at Kilgharrah. The moon behind the dragon reminded him of the crimson one in <em>Flæsc, </em>and the whispers in his head seemed to grow louder. "What could she do, if she caught me?" he asked.</p><p>"If she recognized what you were… She could trap you, destroy your soul—though that would require a level magic I do not yet think the witch is capable of. But if she were to stop you from accessing your body, you would wither away and die, your soul moving on to the realm of the dead," the dragon warned. Merlin shuddered. It would be horrible to be trapped, unable to help Arthur or Camelot, trapped as his body died of dehydration.</p><p>"How do I stop her from sensing me, then?" he asked.</p><p>"Perform no magic," Kilgharrah said immediately. "I doubt she will sense your soul—such a is a feat worthy of the high priestesses. Though Morgana claims to be one, her skills are woefully undeveloped. But it doesn't take a high priestess to sense magic. And your spells—your magic—won't be muted by a physical body. Even small, subtle magicks might be detected."</p><p>Merlin almost sighed in relief. It was a tall order, but doable. "And there's no other way for her to sense me?"</p><p>"None that she is capable of," the dragon assured.</p><p>Then that left Merlin with a plan to figure out <em>Morgana's </em>plans. And what was better: he would know what she was up to, but she wouldn't know what <em>he </em>was up to. It was the best set of circumstances he could think of. Merlin made himself more comfortable on the ground and stared up at Kilgharrah.</p><p>"So how do I go about this… trance?" he asked.</p><p>The dragon eyed him, and Merlin waited for the criticism he knew the look accompanied. "You wish to practice now? Even though you are…" He seemed to try and find the right word, which was more tactful than Merlin had ever seen him. "…Unfocused?"</p><p>"I'm not <em>unfocused," </em>Merlin said. <em>And I'm not so tired I can't practice a trance. </em>"I can do it, Kilgharrah. I just—need some direction."</p><p>"Very well," the dragon agreed. He stretched out his long neck, and Merlin wondered if it was uncomfortable to arc it down at him the whole time. "Direction. You must have a destination in mind for your soul, before you begin the trance. Somewhere close, preferably, so I might pull you back if something goes awry. And somewhere safe."</p><p><em>Safe and close. </em>Merlin thought for a moment. Why not this very clearing? He'd already gone farther places while soul-walking; he just needed to know he could do it on purpose. And the only one there was Kilgharrah. "I have it," he said.</p><p>"Close your eyes," Kilgharrah instructed. Merlin did so. "Concentrate on this place you're thinking of. What does it feel like? What does it look like, smell like? Let yourself be drawn there. Remember what it felt like when you soul-walked before, the feeling of otherness, of being without body. Focus on where you must go, and let yourself relax."</p><p>The dragon's hoarse timbre eased Merlin into something that was almost sleep. He was only a hairbreadth's from falling completely comatose, the weight of his exhaustion beckoning him.</p><p><em>No. Do as Kilgharrah says. Focus. </em>He concentrated on the clearing around him, letting Kilgharrah's voice fade into the background. The air was chill, the grass soft but cold. He could hear the wind, the buzz of insects and hoots of owls. This clearing was a place of safety for him, a place of learning. Kilgharrah could be frustrating, but he <em>was </em>wise (and more than a little manipulative).</p><p>When Merlin's eyes opened, it felt like he was dreaming. He could see his body, slumped, eyes closed. Kilgharrah had stopped speaking; Merlin "stood" (or as near as he could figure, he stood) in front of him. It was just as it was.</p><p>"I was thinking you might go a little farther than this, young warlock," Kilgharrah said mildly. When Merlin opened his mouth to reply, he realized he had no vocal chords with which to speak.</p><p><em>I just needed to know I could do it when I wanted to. I already know I can go far—I followed Arthur when he was fetching the Mortaeus flower for me. </em>Merlin walked forward, experimenting. Even without a body, everything felt solid. He almost couldn't sense anything different, except he didn't have to breathe. <em>That </em>was odd.</p><p>"Had you been anyone else, I would have been impressed that you had managed such a feat on your first try," the dragon said.</p><p>Merlin crossed his arms, feeling (for not the first time) insulted. <em>But because it's me it's not impressive? </em></p><p>"You said it yourself: you've already done this. Twice—unless you did so as a child," Kilgharrah said. "Should I congratulate a babe on realizing it can breathe on purpose when it has been doing so automatically all its life?"</p><p><em>Breathing and soul-walking aren't the same thing, </em>Merlin grumbled. Between Arthur, the dragon, and Gaius, he'd received so much disapproval he could fill an entire castle with it. And so little praise he couldn't even fill a room. It wouldn't kill them to say <em>good job </em>every now and again.</p><p>"My metaphor stands," Kilgharrah sniffed. Haughty, prideful creature. But the words were thought fondly. The dragon was centuries old; if he weren't entitled to his haughtiness sometimes, who was?</p><p><em>Er… </em>Merlin looked again at his apparently unresponsive body. <em>You never told me how to go back in? </em></p><p>Kilgharrah gave an approximation of a laugh. "It is a much easier process than getting your soul <em>out </em>of your body<em>, </em>so long as nothing blocks you. If you focus, you will feel a connection between your soul and body—they aren't meant to be separate, and they are drawn toward each other as magnets are. Simply stop using your magic to block your soul and body from being brought back together."</p><p>Merlin wasn't sure it would be as easy as he said, but upon focusing inward, he <em>could </em>feel a tug on his soul. It wanted to be back inside his skin, where it belonged. The warlock stopped drawing on his magic to keep his soul anchored to the clearing. At first, he wasn't sure it had worked—</p><p>And he <em>snapped </em>back into his body. He gasped, the sensation of having bones and organs and skin re-assertng itself in his mind. And his <em>exhaustion. </em>It was so much worse with a body. Merlin yawned. Why hadn't he noticed how bad it was?</p><p>"Sleep," Kilgharrah said.</p><p>"I—I can't—" Merlin was interrupted by another yawn. Why couldn't he keep his eyes open? Had soul-walking taken more out of him than he'd thought? "I have to…"</p><p>"Sleep," the dragon insisted again, though his tone was as gentle as Merlin had ever heard it. "I will wake you before dawn."</p><p>The last thing Merlin felt was a warm, surprisingly comfortable scaly limb lifting him into a better position before something just as warm covered him.</p><p>He was pretty sure, in his last moments of coherence, that it was Kilgharrah's wing.</p><hr/><p>Arthur didn't like how quiet the city had become.</p><p>He looked down at the courtyard—at the citadel, really. Normally, there would've been a few late-night workers, perhaps some maid's laughter drifting up to his window. But all was silent.</p><p><em>Imposing the curfew was the right thing to do, </em>he told himself. <em>If Morgana attacks early or something… She'll do it at night, to maximize the chaos. I need them safe in their homes. </em>Plus, if anyone was about, it meant they were suspicious and in need of questioning.</p><p>Something crashed behind him. Arthur turned irritably. <em>Unless it's Merlin. </em>The man was clearly exhausted, and the prince had done his best to ease his chores without making it obvious.</p><p>The plate spun on the floor like a coin before finally rattling to a stop.</p><p>"Good thing they're metal, eh?" Merlin said, bending to pick it up. It was a wonder the servant had ever managed to sneak anywhere at all. Arthur still couldn't believe how stealthy he'd been when… when…</p><p>
  <em>No, don't go there. You didn't do it. He's safe. </em>
</p><p>"I doubt the most indestructible of plates could ever survive your brand of clumsiness, <em>Mer</em>lin," Arthur said, crossing his arms and eyeing the new dent in the plate. Merlin grinned sheepishly.</p><p>"All part of my charm, sire," the servant said, finishing stacking the plates.</p><p><em>Indeed, </em>Arthur thought. It <em>was </em>sort of charming, but—<em>no. You are not thinking about Merlin like that. </em>"You couldn't charm someone if they were throwing themselves at you." <em>There. </em>That was suitably mean.</p><p>"We all can't be princes. Some of us have to rely on things other than our station at birth—good looks, personality, intelligence."</p><p>"I suppose it's not surprising you haven't found anyone yet, then, seeing as you have none of those things," Arthur quipped, walking to his bed.</p><p>Merlin's mouth twitched, but either he was too tired to come up with a retort or Arthur's had been too good (if the prince were being honest, it was definitely the former). The man looked like he was about to collapse.</p><p><em>You won't be saving anything if you can't see straight, </em>Mer<em>lin, </em>Arthur admonished silently. The prince climbed into bed, knowing Gwen would be arriving shortly. It was getting colder, so at least he had a plausible excuse for sleeping with his shirt on.</p><p>"I'll need you bright and early for that council meeting, Merlin," Arthur said as Merlin began to snuff out the candles. <em>So for God's sake, get some sleep. </em>"I mean it—this is important."</p><p>"Battle tactics for Morgana. I know," Merlin said, but the prince suspected he had no intention of sleeping much for that very reason. "I'll wake you up on time, Arthur. No need to get your bed sheets in a twist."</p><p>The prince grunted, waiting until he heard the door open and close and Merlin's footsteps fade before sitting up and getting out of bed. He padded over to the candles and lit a few of them before going over to the jewelry drawer and pulling out Merlin's diary. Arthur felt a little like a sneak, as he had when he'd first chosen to open it, but…</p><p><em>I'll understand everything you've done for me, Merlin. </em>No more secrets. Once everything with Morgana was over, Arthur would tell him. And his men, and possibly the entire court. He just… had to figure how to.</p><p>The knock came a few minutes later, Gwen entering without his verbal confirmation.</p><p>"Hello," she greeted, sitting next to him. She looked lovely as always, though Arthur could see what looked like grease or oil on her cheek.</p><p>"Hi," he said, smiling. "Shall we?" He had stopped asking her if she wanted to read; she seemed content to simply listen to him.</p><p>"Of course. Though I still can't believe how much trouble he gets you out of," she said. The last few entries had covered the span of a year, detailing the time during Morgana's disappearance. Merlin had saved him no less than ten times, nearly once a month. Assassins, faeries, and some magical horse-thing called a kelpie, among others. The prince had a limited recollection of these events, as he often did.</p><p>"Yes, well…" It made a part of Arthur uncomfortable to know just how much he owed his life to Merlin. He knew now that the feeling wasn't fair of him; Merlin had saved his life without reward for years. He had no right to be so… untrusting, even if the man had lied to him.</p><p><em>Especially after you nearly killed him. </em>The prince frowned and pushed the thought away. He opened the journal to the next entry and cleared his throat, beginning to read.</p><p>
  <em>We've found Morgana. Arthur had been sent out to search for her, nearly relentlessly. I, naturally, followed, though guilt ate away at me for what I'd done to her. I almost couldn't bear it. </em>
</p><p>Arthur swallowed. Morgana again.</p><p>
  <em>We found her disheveled and dirty, near a bandit camp. We brought her home, and I think Arthur was nearly in tears. I had never seen him so happy. I felt terrible, seeing the state she was in. I thought she must've escaped Morgause somehow and landed with the bandits. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>She took me aside that first day and told me she forgave me, that she understood why I'd done what I'd done. I couldn't believe it; I was so elated, so pleased. I spent the rest of the day in a daze—she'd forgiven me!</em>
</p><p>
  <em>But as I continued to watch her, I noticed oddities in her expression: her smile seemed forced, and had almost a hint of malice to it when it was true, as though she knew something the rest of us did not. She would scowl at Uther when she thought no one was looking.</em>
</p><p>"Do you think this is…" Gwen trailed off, but Arthur nodded.</p><p>"It must be," he said. "You know she never could've really forgiven Merlin—or even Uther. Not for what they did to her. This… This must've been when she went bad, so bad we couldn't get her back."</p><p>And he hadn't seen, hadn't noticed the little details Merlin had. Was he that blind, or was the sorcerer merely that observant? The prince hoped for the latter, and he felt the evidence supported him. Merlin always seemed to know what was going on, even when he had no right to.</p><p>He continued:</p><p>
  <em>A sentry was found stabbed. The knife was one used by the High Priestesses of old, Gaius said. The sentry was well enough that he would have been able to wake and tell us who had attacked him. But we weren't as watchful as we should've been, and we found him dead, poisoned. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>Gaius told me to check on the king. When I did, I noticed something odd underneath his bed. You have to understand that Uther had been acting strangely—seeing things that weren't there, children he had murdered during the Purge. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>A shadow fell across the room, and I hid quickly under the bed, where I saw it: some kind of root, covered in dark liquid. A hand reached to grab it, and the hand belonged to Morgana.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>I knew, then, that she hadn't forgiven me for trying to kill her. She hadn't forgiven Uther, or Camelot, for their hatred. I followed her, and she met with Morgause in the forest. But she'd known I'd followed her, and Morgause tied me up using enchanted chains. They left me to die—that part of the forest was infested with sekrets. </em>
</p><p>"What are those?" Gwen asked. She didn't seem surprised that Merlin had found Morgana working with Morgause.</p><p>"They're like… giant scorpions. Their venom is deadly. I had a knight once die from a sting. It took him a few days, and it hurt like fire. Or so he told us." He grimaced. <em>I can't believe that stupid little idiot got himself caught. </em>Well, he could. "He made a poor decision going after her unprepared. And why didn't he use his magic to escape?"</p><p>"He must've wanted to keep it a secret," Gwen said. "From Morgana and Morgause."</p><p>"Right. A tactical advantage. But what's the point if he doesn't use it to survive?" Capable of doing something, unable to do it. How helpless did that make Merlin feel? Constrained to the shadows, kept still by invisible chains. Arthur tried to imagine it, and found he couldn't.</p><p>"Well, he's alive now, isn't he?" Gwen pointed out. That was true enough, though Arthur ignored the voice saying it was no thanks to him.</p><p>He kept reading:</p><p>
  <em>And sure enough, they came. I tried to get rid of the chains, but Morgause's magic was woven too tightly, and it would've taken me ages to unravel it. I blasted the encroaching creatures back, but I was too late: one of them struck my back. As I lost consciousness, I called to Kilgharrah. I think it was instinct.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>The sting was white-hot, like fire. The flames seemed to spread through my veins and into my skin. I itched and ached all over when I regained consciousness. I couldn't move, even though Kilgharrah had already begun to heal me. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>It was difficult for me to look at him; we had not spoken for a year. When I saw him, all I could see was what he had done to Camelot, to my friends. But I thanked him, and he flew me back to Camelot once I had healed enough. </em>
</p><p>Arthur's mouth tightened. He still wished Merlin had killed the damn beast. But he supposed if it were useful… And it sounded as though it had used magic to save the warlock's life, save him from the agony of a slow, painful death.</p><p><em>Doesn't change the fact that it killed hundreds of my people. </em>The prince knew now where the blame lay. Merlin had had his part in it, yes, but the dragon was ultimately responsible. It—<em>he—</em>wasn't some unthinking beast. It had been a conscious decision on his part to try and destroy Camelot.</p><p>
  <em>I explained what I had learned to Gaius, and we rushed to Uther. He was crying, curled up in a corner, and I took the thing from underneath the bed and threw it in the fire, where it died with a shriek. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>Arthur was furious with me the next day—I had missed work, after all. And I even told the great prat that I had been dying, but did he believe me? No—the man believes me when I lie, and disbelieves me when I speak truth. I'm damned either way.</em>
</p><p>Arthur winced as Gwen gave him a look.</p><p>"Is that true?" she demanded.</p><p>"I can't remember," he said. "Listen, Gwen, you know how he can be. He says something ridiculous—how was I supposed to know? All I knew was that my father was falling apart, and he was nowhere to be seen."</p><p>Her expression softened. "Yes. I suppose you would've wanted his support." Well, that was a girlish way of putting it, but Arthur wasn't about to say <em>that </em>aloud.</p><p>"Er, I guess. It was more I needed him to fetch my breakfast, help me dress…" She gave him another knowing look, and he shut his mouth. "Right."</p><p>
  <em>Cenred and his army marched on Camelot. Arthur's forces were outnumbered, and though the enchantment over Uther had been broken, he was in no state to lead. Arthur headed the army, prepared to hold off the enemy. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>But Gaius and I hadn't kept as close an eye on Morgana as we should've. An army of skeletons rose up behind Camelot's army, which was now trapped between two opposing forces. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>I sensed where the magic was coming from, and it made sense, as far as necromancy goes. I took a sword and ventured to the crypts, where I saw Morgana and a staff—the source of the evil magic. It pulsed with a chill and an undead aura, one I nearly couldn't stand. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>I begged her to stop, to see how she might use her gift for something greater, something better, than this. I felt as though I had set her on this path, and I was desperate to find something other than hatred in her eyes. But they were cold and hard, cutting like emeralds. We dueled, and I used my magic to loosen stones from the ceiling, knocking her out.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>I destroyed the staff, and the skeletal army crumbled. I raced to find Arthur, to tell him what had happened. The traitor in Camelot, the one who had slayed the guard and driven Uther to madness—it had all been Morgana.</em>
</p><p>At least Merlin had been prepared to tell him the truth, even if he hadn't actually done it. It was odd, but Arthur realized this was one of the only times that Merlin had seemed ready to trust him—to <em>really </em>trust him—in this diary. <em>He trusted me with the afnac, Valiant… He tried to tell me about Cedric… </em>But Arthur hadn't believed him enough for Merlin to keep coming to him. How many times had the prince disbelieved him before he'd given up?</p><p>It put a sinking sensation in Arthur's heart.</p><p>
  <em>But she had gotten there first. It was she—not I—who had destroyed the staff and saved Camelot. There was a ceremony to commemorate her bravery, and she glowered at me the entire time. I could feel her thrumming hatred from where I stood, as though it battered me like waves. She told me if I ever tried to expose her, she would tell everyone about me poisoning her.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>And still there is a terrible despair in my heart, for I know that she didn't have to be this way. We could've been friends, but instead we have become enemies. </em>
</p><p>"That's a disheartening ending," Arthur muttered. "Before reading this, I thought Merlin was an eternal optimist." Though perhaps naïve would've been a better word; the servant always seemed to think everything would work out. Come to think of it—he'd nearly always been right.</p><p>"Really? He's always struck me as more of a pessimist," Gwen said.</p><p>The prince pretended to think about it.</p><p>"I suppose he complains enough for it," Arthur finally said, and Gwen let out a laugh.</p><p>"Come on, he doesn't complain <em>that </em>much." She smiled. "Though he certainly doesn't like some of the chores you give him." Arthur shook his head.</p><p>"You haven't heard him on a campaign. He complains about the campsite being wet, about his saddle sores, about how hard the ground is. He'll complain about <em>anything." </em>Arthur smiled, thinking about it with nostalgia. How long had it been since he'd dragged Merlin on a hunt? Not since he'd been regent.</p><p>He'd have to drag the servant out, after… After what? Morgana? After he confronted Merlin about his lying? The thought held less appeal than it had before, after what had happened in the cave. He'd been so ready to kill him…</p><p>"Are you ready to read the next entry?" Gwen asked, breaking him from his thoughts. He swallowed, wondering what she would think of him if he confessed what he'd nearly done.</p><p>"Yes." He cleared his throat.</p><p>
  <em>So Gaius is acting strangely. Very strangely. He went to the tavern, he's not reacting to things as he should. And I think… Well, I think I might have had something to do with it. See, I stumbled across this hidden room in the library, filled with magic books that escaped the Purge.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Only there was something trapped in a container there. And I may have released it. It was a goblin, I think. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>And I'm pretty sure it's possessed Gaius.</em>
</p><p>"That little shit!" Arthur exclaimed. "Did you hear that? <em>He </em>released it, and then pretended as though he had no idea how it'd gotten out!" He shook the journal almost triumphantly.</p><p>"<em>Arthur," </em>Gwen scolded, but there was laughter in his eyes. "He couldn't have confessed—Uther would've beheaded him."</p><p>"And if he'd told me—" Arthur growled, but cut himself off from graphically threatening his servant. <em>You nearly did that anyway, </em>he thought. Behead, kill, <em>murder. </em>He had almost killed his own servant in cold-blood. His—well, he wasn't sure he could consider Merlin a friend, after all this. But an ally, certainly.</p><p>"Arthur? If he'd told you, what?" Gwen asked, but Arthur shook his head.</p><p>"Let me keep reading. It's a new entry—that one was rather short."</p><p>
  <em>Honestly, the whole thing wasn't too hard to fix. I did have to poison Gaius, though, in order to get the goblin to abandon his body. Then, I managed to trap it. But, and there's no easy way to say this, what the goblin did was absolutely, without-a-doubt hilarious.</em>
</p><p>Arthur scowled deeply at the diary as Gwen covered her mouth and looked away. Probably hiding her smile. His scowl deepened.</p><p>
  <em>He made Uther go bald, and then slapped his head, telling him it would get his hair back. The king (and Morgana) also had a bad case of flatulence. The knights broke out in warts (and the horror on Leon's face was rather priceless).</em>
</p><p>
  <em>And best of all is Arthur. He had the ears and voice of an ass! It was the funniest thing. I can't stop laughing. If the goblin hadn't insisted on possessing people and wreaking havoc, I might've thanked him for it. It was gold, to hear Arthur braying—</em>
</p><p>"I'm not reading anymore," Arthur said stubbornly. "I refuse to listen to—to this when <em>he's </em>the one who released it in the first place!" He was the biggest liar to have ever lived, multiplied by ten. The biggest rat in the whole damn palace.</p><p>Gwen giggled helplessly. "It's not as though the goblin hurt anyone, is it? And it was, well, it was rather—"</p><p>"If you say 'funny,' Gwen, I'm going to throw this damn book out the window," Arthur threatened, holding the journal up menacingly.</p><p>The servant tilted her head as though considering it, her mouth pursed as she tried not to laugh. "Right. One more entry for tonight, do you think?"</p><p>Arthur squinted at her, but took the change of subject as graciously as he could. "I have a council meeting early tomorrow, so perhaps we should stop for now," he said.</p><p>"Alright," Gwen agreed. She tilted her head at him. "Are you okay, Arthur? You seem—distracted, tonight. I mean—" And here she began to speak so rapidly that Arthur had trouble keeping up. "—of course you're distracted, with Morgana and Merlin and everything. That was a stupid question. You just seem—more distracted? Or, no, distracted about something else. Something unrelated, or maybe related. And I'm rambling now, aren't I?"</p><p>"A bit," Arthur said, smiling. "But you're right. I…" He set the diary down on the table and tapped his fingernail against it. "I almost—almost did something terrible."</p><p>"What do you mean?" Gwen asked.</p><p>"I thought about executing him, Gwen." Arthur put his head in his hands. "Or even just—killing him outright. I followed him, a night or so ago. I almost... What if I'd done so? You know he never would've raised a hand against me, not in this. I would've murdered him, and he would've let me." He laughed derisively. "What a fine way to repay him for all he's done."</p><p>She placed a hand on his arm. "You wouldn't have done it," she assured.</p><p>"You don't know that. You didn't see me. I was—" He swallowed. "I was ready. My sword was raised; he wouldn't have seen it coming."</p><p>He could see a fear in her eyes, but her hand gripped his forearm tightly.</p><p>"You wouldn't have done it," she repeated. "In fact, you didn't do it. Arthur, you can be hasty, but I could never believe, not even for a second, that you would ever kill Merlin. He's your best friend—no, don't lie to me. You two are close."</p><p>His eyes were filled with pain, thinking of the glow in the cave. If Merlin hadn't begun his spell… Arthur wouldn't have snapped out of it. "I almost committed regicide—patricide—in a fit of rage. Merlin stopped me. But who would've stopped me from killing <em>him?"</em></p><p>"<em>You </em>stopped yourself," Gwen insisted. "You made yourself gather evidence before hand. And you're not the man you once were."</p><p>He laughed again, but it was more genuine. "I think that's been made abundantly clear." He gestured to the diary. "If I had a gold piece for every rant Merlin has in here about me, I could buy another kingdom."</p><p>"Likely true." Gwen smiled at him softly. "Don't think on what could've been, Arthur—you'll only drive yourself to madness. Think on what <em>is." </em></p><p>The prince sighed, but he placed his hand overtop of hers. "God, how is it I ended up with two know-it-all servants?" But there was a gentle fondness in his voice, and Gwen knew it.</p><p>"Because behind every good prince is about two-dozen good servants," she said, leaning closer.</p><p>"Well where the hell are the rest of you, then?" Arthur asked as she pressed her lips to his. He closed his eyes, but it was a light, almost chaste kiss. Gwen ended it before it could ever truly begin.</p><p>"Good night," she said, rising from the chair. He watched her skirts fall about her ankles in waves of coarse fabric.</p><p>"Good night," he called as she left, touching his fingers to his lips. They were still tingling with anticipation.</p><p>How was he supposed to sleep after that?</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Happy holidays! Thank you so much for the response; I love the comments, kudos, bookmarks, etc. Questions: What did you think of Agravaine? And the soul-walking? How was the diary entries and Arthur/Gwen's response?</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0009"><h2>9. Chapter 9</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <strong>Chapter Nine: The Art of Secrets</strong>
</p><p>
  <em>It's important to remember that all Magicks take incredible amounts of energy. A mage using their power regularly—especially a young mage—will require more sleep and meals in order to remain hale. Magicks shouldn't be performed when tired. In the first place, the spell will backfire if the mage lacks the energy for it. In the second place, Magicks require absolute concentration in order to work, though focuses make this easier. Hunger and lack of sleep ultimately prohibit safe, effective Magicks from taking place. </em>
</p><p>Gwen sat on the bench, head ducked over the book. Gaius and Merlin were out—something about a woman giving birth. She had decided now was a good a time as any to read the book Gaius had said she might read, away from Merlin's prying eyes. She could only imagine what he might think if he saw her, the questions he would ask.</p><p>She wanted to tell him, badly, but she knew it was best to respect Arthur's wishes, at least for now. The prince had at least seemed to accept their friend's magic, but she understood a part of him might not have been ready to confront Merlin.</p><p>She wasn't sure she was ready, either.</p><p>
  <em>Thus, it is a Mentor's duty to supply their Apprentice with all they need to keep healthy: a warm bed, plenty of food, and careful training. Many kingdoms that have Mage Guilds will review these Apprenticeships to ensure that these stipulations are met; it is important that Apprentices not be abused or mistreated, especially because such things can malform their Magicks.</em>
</p><p>That was interesting. Gwen had never heard of such a thing, though she supposed it made sense. She knew men who'd been put down, could see it in their eyes as they decided to use their meager power to hurt others. But for it to affect magic…</p><p>
  <em>Magic is tied heavily to the spirit and emotions of the mage. An angry mage may be able to cast a spell of fire, but ask them to conjure the illusion of a butterfly, and they will fail. Mages who are oft mistreated have Magicks more prone to violence and outburst, as they are quicker to anger and point out injustice. </em>
</p><p>Quicker to anger. Could magic be affected by temperament, then? The same way a warrior's fighting style was influenced?</p><p>
  <em>To illustrate my point, I shall use one of the Apprentices I knew—a young girl the High Priestesses had to take in. Her master had used her harshly, but her Magicks had been stronger than his. One night, as he beat her nearly senseless, her magic lashed out and killed him. Such a thing by itself is not bad: it is as much of a reflex as shielding one's eyes from the sun.</em>
</p><p>Gwen considered this "reflex" a bit stronger than that. It made her sick, knowing that someone could kill will only a word and a gesture. It just… how could someone fight back? A sword could be blocked, a knife could be dodged, but magic—magic made someone helpless. She didn't hold it against Merlin—it had been clear from the beginning that he hadn't had much choice in learning magic—but him having that power made her uneasy.</p><p>
  <em>But her master had starved her, beaten her, and deprived her of nearly all that was needed to make her human. Learning control afterward was difficult. Even if she showed no outward signs of distress, glasses would break when something upset her. She once set her bed sheets alight. The Priestesses had to be gentle but firm with her, coaxing her to learn control and restraint. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>Because of her starvation, her magic refused to be called upon unless she was in great emotional turmoil—it wished to preserve itself, and its energy, for her time of need, as magic is wont to do. She had difficulty with delicate spells, even more so than one might expect with her amount of power. </em>
</p><p>That, too, was strange. The whole notion that sorcerers—or mages, as the book called them—needed to be well-fed because of their powers was an odd one. But she supposed it was no different, again, from that of a warrior: he had to be well-fed in order to fight properly.</p><p>
  <em>Eventually, she grew so frustrated with the entire process she fled the Priestesses. They found her, a year later, after she'd been executed. She had murdered three in cold blood, for they had upset her, and she had limited control. She'd been hanged.</em>
</p><p>Gwen shuddered. This apprentice—her tale of corruption reminded her too much of Morgana. Setting cloth on fire, running away… After Merlin's confessions in the diary, there was no doubt in her mind that Morgana could've come back to Camelot if she'd chosen. But she'd stayed away, she'd <em>run </em>away.</p><p>Did the fear of living in Camelot count as abuse? Uther's constant shadow, knowing that a misstep might get her killed… Had it driven her magic to madness? Was there such a thing?</p><p>And Merlin, was he set to go down the same path? It couldn't be healthy, how he lived. Constantly tired, and he never seemed to eat enough… and from what she'd spoken to Arthur about, it seemed he was expending quite a bit of magic. What if he passed out because he was using too much energy and not eating enough? She'd seen such things a few times in new recruits: squires who pushed themselves too hard, or newly-appointed knights.</p><p>
  <em>The point being, that it is vital to find those who possess natural inclinations for Magicks early and train them well.</em>
</p><p>Gwen closed the book, hearing footsteps outside. Getting up, she tucked the tome back on the shelf—and not a moment too soon, as Merlin came in a second later, satchel of herbs and potions slung over one shoulder. He looked worse, somehow, than she'd remembered. There were dark smudges beneath his eyes, and his cheeks looked more hollow than usual.</p><p>"Gwen," he said, summoning a tired smile. "What are you doing here?"</p><p>Gwen shoved down a stab of guilt as she prepared her tongue to lie; it needed the preparation, for she was unused to such glibness. "Gaius said I could borrow one of his books on—" <em>What could I realistically have an interest in? </em>"—herblore. I was just looking for it."</p><p>"Which one?" Merlin asked as he removed his satchel, setting it on the table. "He made me study all of them, when I first got here—I know where to find them." Gwen could only imagine trying to study to be a physician, a sorcerer, and a servant all at once. No wonder the man was such a scatterbrain.</p><p><em>Don't be rude, </em>she chastised herself. He wasn't <em>that </em>bad… Most days. She remembered more than once he'd lost his train of thought, mid-sentence. And when he'd forgotten to put on his boots before he'd left to serve Arthur (he had complained of his feet being cold, without ever realizing). That had been… Well, she hadn't been able to help laughing at him.</p><p>"Um, I forget what it was called…" Gwen trailed off, biting her lip. She didn't enjoy this, fooling him. A small part of her thought it served him right, after all the lying he'd done, but mostly it made her sad. Had he felt this same pit in his stomach every time he'd lied to them? This same cloying stickiness in his throat, his tongue twisted and warping to produce falsehoods?</p><p>"Let me think." He walked to book shelf, close enough that Gwen could smell the herbs on him—and something that reminded her of trees and rain and grass. Not an unpleasant, dirty smell, but odd. "We have <em>The Beginner's Guide to Healing</em>—that talks of herbs among other things. There's <em>A List and Uses of Various Herbs—" </em></p><p>"That's the one!" Gwen interrupted, smiling. He pulled it down from the shelf, and the thing was so thick she thought it might be too heavy for his too-thin arm. He handed it to her. "Thank you," she said, tucking it in one arm. <em>Am I going to have to read this now? </em>It almost seemed to weigh more than the metal she used in blacksmithing.</p><p>"You're welcome," Merlin said, but then winced and rubbed his temple, exhaling carefully through his nose.</p><p>"Is something the matter?" she asked. <em>Aside from the obvious. </em></p><p>"Only a headache," he said, grimacing. "Won't go away." He looked so pitiful, like some kind of half-drowned cat—sad and shaking and miserable. Well, he wasn't really shaking, but Gwen thought it added to the effect.</p><p>"Have you tried a potion?" she asked.</p><p>He just shook his head. "No—it's not that kind of headache."</p><p>She cocked her head. "There's more than one kind?" Was he about to make something up to throw her off the scent? Lie to her? But then, why lie? What other reason could he have to wince and rub his temple <em>except </em>for a headache?</p><p>
  <em>You're getting paranoid, Gwen. </em>
</p><p>"Naturally," he said, but that was all. "That's a thick book, Gwen—took me a few months to read it. I'm sure Gaius will let you borrow it for that long; we've both practically memorized the thing. What did you want it for?" He'd changed the subject to swiftly and directly she wouldn't have been suspicious if she hadn't <em>known </em>to be suspicious.</p><p>Then again, it could've just been in her head.</p><p>"Well, since I sometimes help you and Gaius with patients, I thought it might be good to learn a bit more about it all, especially given…" She trailed off.</p><p>Merlin rubbed his temple again. "Given Morgana? Or given that Camelot seems to be the biggest magnet of trouble in all of Albion? I swear, I haven't heard of any kingdom having as much trouble as this, even the unlucky ones in fairy tales."</p><p>"Something has got to inspire them," Gwen said.</p><p>"I suppose," he said, distantly. "Anyway, I had better get back to Gaius. Don't want him making me clean the leech tank." He eyed the glass container in the corner with considerable distaste. "Again."</p><p>He gathered some tinctures from the cupboard, tucking them into his bag before slinging it over his shoulder once more. There was a distinct weariness to his movements, as though his bones were older than his skin.</p><p>
  <em>A mage using their power regularly—especially a young mage—will require more sleep and meals in order to remain hale. Magicks shouldn't be performed when tired…</em>
</p><p>"Alright. I'll see you later, Merlin," Gwen said, an idea brewing in her mind.</p><p>"See you later, Gwen," Merlin said, not looking up from where he was rearranging the things in his satchel. Gwen pushed open the door and left.</p><hr/><p>Arthur was grateful for his uncle coming to aid him in his time of crisis. The prince barely even had time to visit his father, and when he did, a lance of pain went through his heart. To see him so weak when once he'd been so strong… Just staring…</p><p>The prince regent would do his best to be as good as <em>(better than)</em> his father, though he knew the man would never agree with all the decisions he'd made (especially about a certain servant). But there had always been things they'd disagreed on—things Arthur had been punished for speaking his mind on. He could recall clearly being thrown in the dungeons for disobeying the king, or speaking when he shouldn't have.</p><p>But his father had always been there to teach and support him. He felt that he was listing without that support, falling just ever-so-slightly sideways. And Agravaine provided new support, support like that of a father, though he was only his uncle. Arthur felt like they had connected in the short time they'd known each other.</p><p>He'd seen, however, the suspicious looks his servant had cast at the man; he wasn't blind. And while he would've chocked it up to paranoia before, he knew better now.</p><p>It was time to see Merlin's judgment in real-time, not through the hindsight of a journal. <em>But how to ask him? </em>Arthur watched the servant arrange the bedclothes, which he really should've done that morning. His papers lay haphazardly over his desk, reports of activity on the border (or lack thereof) and his men's supplies.</p><p>He decided he would draw the man out at first, distract him from Arthur's real purpose. It wouldn't do for him to realize what the prince was doing—and he was apparently smarter than Arthur had ever given him credit for (though dumb enough to leave his magic stuff lying about his room, covered by only a blanket).</p><p>"So, <em>Mer</em>lin, interested in telling me where you've been wandering off to?" he asked, pushing his fingers against one another.</p><p>"What do you mean?" Merlin turned around to face him, and Arthur had to admit his appearance had <em>somehow </em>grown worse: the darkness under his eyes looked less like bruises and more like they were ringed with holes; his cheekbones cast stark shadows on his cheeks; and he winced as he faced the light of the window, rubbing his temple.</p><p>"Well," Arthur began, dragging out the word, "you certainly haven't been <em>here, </em>doing your <em>job, </em>when I go into council meetings. And since you haven't deigned to attend the meetings—"</p><p>"You said you didn't need me there!" Merlin exclaimed.</p><p>"—I had assumed you would be attending to chores. Only to find that my chambers, my laundry, my horses are all in the state I left them in," Arthur finished, as though Merlin had never interrupted. "I had hoped you would've taken to using your time more wisely."</p><p>"It's not my job to care for your horses, <em>Arthur</em>. That is what stable boys are for—working in the <em>stables. </em>I am a <em>man</em>servant, meaning I serve a <em>man—</em>namely, you, though how you can be considered a man when you act like a bloody child—"</p><p>"You haven't answered the question," Arthur noted, looking down at one of the reports. "So what is it? The tavern?" He knew very well it wasn't the tavern; that had been an excuse Gaius had concocted that evidently irritated Merlin to no end.</p><p>And there it was: a scowl on his features.</p><p>"I was helping Gaius—a woman gave birth in the lower town today," Merlin said, rubbing his temple again.</p><p>"Ah, Gaius." Here was his opening. "Your great uncle, right?"</p><p>"On my mother's side," the servant replied, looking confused. "Why?"</p><p>"Nothing—I've just been thinking of uncles lately," he said elusively, but the hint was large enough that Merlin would've had to have thrown himself out the window to avoid it.</p><p>"Right. Agravaine." Another scowl tried to morph his features, but only for a second; he fought it down and turned away, resuming his tidying.</p><p>"What? Not a fan?" the prince asked innocuously. Now he would just need the man to say—or imply—why. Arthur wanted to trust Merlin's instincts; they were often right. But there was a desperation in him to trust his family more—his blood family, which always seemed to abandon or betray him. His parents in his time of need: once as a babe and now as a prince. His half-sister, intent on slaughtering him and his people. And now his uncle…</p><p>Was it too much to ask for that one stay by his side, no ill intent, simply there to love and guide him, as family should?</p><p>"He's, uh, fine," Merlin said, unconvincingly. Arthur nearly rolled his eyes; it was a wonder the man had managed to lie so well for so long. "I mean, he's only been here a week or so…"</p><p>"Yes, and you've managed to give him about a hundred dirty looks in that short time. You're lucky he hasn't noticed." Arthur began to sort casually through his papers, hoping to convince Merlin that his answer would hold no weight—it wouldn't do to make the sorcerer flighty.</p><p>"He wouldn't notice a servant if they went naked through the castle, so long as they bowed and served him food and drink," Merlin muttered.</p><p>"You don't like how he treats the staff, then?" Arthur asked. "The steward has reported no complaints from George."</p><p>"George wouldn't complain if Agravaine took to beating him every hour," Merlin said. That, probably, was true. The man was frightening in his dedication and subservience. And dullness.</p><p>"It's <em>Lord </em>Agravaine, Merlin. And has he been beating George every hour?" He mostly emphasized the title to see what reaction it would provoke, and he wasn't disappointed; Merlin gave an irritated grimace, his hands tightening around the pillow he was fluffing.</p><p>"No," the servant grumbled.</p><p>"Then I don't see why you hold such animosity toward him," Arthur said. He began to underline the most pertinent information from the reports with his quill. He would re-read those when he was less distracted, try to figure out what they meant. Villagers had reported strange weather patterns on the border, though there'd been no sign of Morgana or any other sorcerers.</p><p>"He just—I don't like the way he looks at you, when he thinks no one's paying attention," Merlin admitted. "It's… hungry."</p><p>"So you don't like him because he looks hungry," Arthur concluded.</p><p>Merlin sighed in exasperation. "No, Arthur, not that kind of hunger. I mean, I get this <em>feeling—"</em></p><p>"A funny feeling, huh?" The prince knew he was being unfair, but he didn't want Merlin to take his only remaining, functioning family member from him. Even though, thinking about it… Merlin's funny feelings had often been right, and they had likely been informed either through magic or through Merlin's own strange way of ferreting out information.</p><p>If Merlin suspected Agravaine of <em>something, </em>Arthur would have to keep a closer eye on the man, uncle or no. But it gave him a heavy heart to do so. <em>And to think, the man I trust the most at this point has been lying to me for years… </em>This made him ache almost unbearably, and he found himself staring at the papers in front of him without really reading them.</p><p>"Laugh if you want," Merlin mumbled. "The man's up to something." He didn't even <em>try </em>to convince the prince further. Did he truly think so little of Arthur, that he wouldn't value his opinion?</p><p><em>You've never outwardly valued it before, </em>he thought. Even though he had talked with Merlin over various proposals, gotten his opinion—even implemented some of them. And the speeches… Merlin had a nice way of putting together formal but sincere words, whereas Arthur tended to oscillate toward one or the other.</p><p>But did Merlin even know that Arthur sometimes took his advice?</p><p>Likely not. Clearly the man hadn't been paying attention.</p><p>"You're exceedingly paranoid, <em>Mer</em>lin," Arthur told him. Perhaps he could talk to the captain of the guard and ask him to put more men near Agravaine's room, under the guise of being worried for his safety.</p><p><em>Or I could confront him, </em>another part of him pointed out.</p><p><em>About what? Merlin doesn't like how he </em>looks <em>at me—not exactly solid evidence. He's probably innocent, and the man is being paranoid. </em>But he would post the extra guards, in case Merlin's instincts proved again to be correct. <em>I should've done similar things when he confessed his feelings to me before. </em></p><p>But there had been nothing to back up those claims, and often it seemed that they had come to nothing, though in reality Arthur knew now that Merlin had simply taken care of the threat without him ever knowing. Sofia came to mind, as did Cedric.</p><p>"And you're exceedingly careless," Merlin shot back. "I thought royalty was supposed to be suspicious of everyone?"</p><p>"I'm suspicious of <em>you</em>—suspicious you're talking with me to avoid doing work. Go on—it's time you fetched me lunch." He smiled at the servant, slightly mocking. "I'm feeling peckish."</p><p>Merlin let out a frustrated groan but did as his master bid. Arthur let his smile drop as he left the room.</p><p>God, could this whole thing get anymore complicated?</p><hr/><p>Merlin was done gathering herbs, and so he made his way back to Camelot.</p><p>Walking—moving from one place to another, through the use of his legs—was proving to be more difficult with every passing sleepless night, not to mention the horrible pain in his head. He blinked at the darkened forest around him, which blurred into one vague, shapeless form, like he was crying.</p><p>He wavered on his feet and almost tripped but managed to catch himself in time, shaking his head until his vision came back into focus. That wasn't a good sign, was it? He longed to let himself slide to forest floor and sleep right there, but it wasn't to be: he had things to do tonight.</p><p>He made his way through Camelot, and was grateful no one tried to speak with him; he was too tired to make good conversation. He was less grateful for what was waiting for him as he entered the physician chambers: mainly, one very wearied-looking Gaius.</p><p>"Er—" Merlin's tongue stumbled over a greeting as he closed the door behind him, staring at the older man. The air between them had been frosty, ever since he'd decided to do as he would to protect Camelot—against his mentor's advice.</p><p>"How many times must I ask you to at least leave a note?" Gaius said, voice disappointed. "I've come to expect to wake up and see you gone from your bed, but the familiarity doesn't stop my worry that you'll go and get your fool head arrested or worse!"</p><p>Guilt bloomed in Merlin's gut like fast-growing mold, making him feel sick. It wasn't a nice compliment to his headache. Had he really neglected his mentor so? He guessed the only time they had really spoken over the past couple weeks had been about patients—nothing personal. The warlock hadn't wanted to bother him with what he was doing; the physician wouldn't approve, and Merlin spent every free second he had working on illicit things.</p><p>"And now," Gaius continued without letting Merlin speak, "there are bruises beneath your eyes darker than the night sky, you always look half a second from falling asleep, and you wince as though the slightest noise pains you!" His raised voice did, in fact, pain Merlin, and he did his best not to wince and prove his mentor's point. He squinted and screwed up his nose, trying to regain control of his face.</p><p>"And you're doing it again! What on earth has happened to you? You owe me an explanation, at the very least." Well, Merlin couldn't say he was wrong; he did owe Gaius an explanation of what he'd been doing. He'd told him of the shield, but many of the other preparations he had neglected to mention.</p><p>But he felt as though there wasn't any time for such talks. He itched to be working, to be readying what needed to be ready. Morgana loomed all the closer, the barrier a pulsing louder with every day, like a dead heart preparing once more to animate a corpse.</p><p>"I…" Merlin rubbed his face and sat across from Gaius. He would do his best to soothe the older man's worries before going out again. His mentor waited expectantly, eyebrow creeping up his face. "I've been very careful not to be seen, Gaius, with what I've been doing."</p><p>"And what exactly have you been doing? As I recall, the shield was finished some time ago," Gaius said, tone close to irritated but not quite. "I know it is habit, Merlin, but I would really prefer you not lie to me."</p><p>"I haven't been lying!" Merlin protested, stung. Habit? Why did Gaius have to make it sound like some sort of addiction rather than a strategy to keep himself alive? "I just—I knew you wouldn't like what else I've been preparing. I'm not even sure it will work, to be honest. I won't have time to test it out."</p><p>"So, further preparations. They won't do any good if you run yourself into the ground," his mentor pointed out, gesturing to Merlin's battered form. "If Morgana came now, she'd blow you over like so much grass."</p><p>"Good thing I'm a bit heavier than grass, then," the warlock said. "She might have a harder time of it."</p><p>"Not by much." Gaius's face took on a physician's cast: clinical but not unkind. "When was the last time you ate, Merlin?" The servant thought back—he'd had an apple that morning, and a bit of cabbage soup for lunch, but… Other than that, nothing. Had he truly eaten so little?</p><p>"I ate lunch," Merlin said defensively. "I know I need to eat—I'm not starving myself."</p><p>"Be that as it may, you're clearly not eating enough," Gaius said. "You know great Magicks require energy. You should be eating more, not less."</p><p>"There's no time to worry about that, not when Morgana's army is so close!" Merlin gestured to the moon outside. "I can eat more later."</p><p>"There won't <em>be </em>a later if you don't have enough energy to beat her," his mentor said sensibly. "And it seems you have a bit of time, now—time that should be spent <em>sleeping, </em>mind you, not gallivanting off to gods only know where. I'll make you stew—there's bread in the cupboard. Get yourself some." His tone said it was a suggestion; his phrasing said it was an order.</p><p>The older man stood and began to gather ingredients for a rich stew. Merlin's mouth watered, and he sighed, knowing when he was beat. He would never be able to defeat his mentor and his body both. Might as well give in—after he ate, he would do what he needed to do.</p><p>He got up, rifling through the cupboards until he found the bread. He sliced a couple of thick pieces off and set them on a wooden plate, taking it back to the bench. Even the act of standing had aggravated his head, and he rubbed his temple, grimacing.</p><p>"How long have you had that headache?" Gaius asked, and Merlin realized his mentor was watching him. Making sure he stayed put and ate, probably. <em>Nosy old man, </em>Merlin thought, but it was mostly affectionate.</p><p>"I'm not sure," Merlin said honestly. "Five days, a week? It's—the weakening of the barrier between here and <em>Flæsc</em>… I can <em>hear </em>it—and them. Pounding against my skull."</p><p>"Surprising, given how thick and stubborn it is," Gaius muttered as he dumped the vegetables into the broth, followed by chicken. "Have you taken anything for it?"</p><p>"I tried a couple of pain relievers the first few days, but they didn't help," Merlin replied, ignoring the thick comment. <em>He </em>wasn't thick. His skull was the proper thickness, thank you.</p><p>"I suspect only strong magic might prevent the opening portal from bothering you," Gaius said, his voice hushed on the word "magic." No matter how many times they discussed it, he was always cautious. Not that Merlin blamed him; he suspected neither of them wanted to see the other burn, or be burned together.</p><p>(<em>Would Arthur really do that? </em>some part of him asked, but the question was moot because Uther was still king—the prince couldn't go against such strong precedent while his father yet lived.)</p><p>"Too bad I can't," Merlin grumbled. The stew began to smell tantalizingly good, and he could feel his mouth water. He tore off a bit of bread and ate it, but it didn't do near enough to satisfy him.</p><p>"The illegality of it has never stopped you before, but yes—I wouldn't attempt it," Gaius said, stirring the pot of food. "Especially since I suspect it may subside with food and rest; you can hardly fight off the intrusion when you're running yourself ragged."</p><p>"It's not like I have a choice," Merlin argued, finishing the piece of bread. Damn, he should've eaten earlier. He hadn't even realized how hungry he'd been.</p><p>"You've chosen differently in the past," his mentor said mildly, sprinkling a few herbs into the stew for added taste. "I don't see why you shouldn't apply that same principle now."</p><p>Merlin pressed his lips into a thin line, running a hand through his hair. They'd already had this discussion, and he didn't feel like arguing with Gaius on a good day—never mind when he was so tired he could barely think straight. "You know very well why," he finally settled on saying. "You haven't felt them, Gaius—you can't <em>hear </em>them." He rubbed his temple, the pounding and whispers seeming to rise in volume as he concentrated on them.</p><p>"Hm," Gaius grunted, unconvinced. They waited minutes in silence as Merlin tried to keep his eyes open, the warmth of the fire and smell of stew lulling him to sleep. Eventually, it was finished, and his mentor dished out a bowl and placed it in front of him.</p><p>"Thanks," Merlin said before digging in. He swore he had never tasted anything so good.</p><p>"Don't choke." His mentor raised a judgmental eyebrow. "You should sleep after you finish—goodness knows how long it's been since you've slept the whole night through."</p><p>The warlock shook his head immediately, spooning another hot mouthful past his lips. It heated him from the inside out like soft furs on a cold night (not that Merlin had any soft furs; he just thought this was what they must have felt like). "I can't. I have things—things I have to…" His eyelids began to droop, and the spoon went slack in his hand.</p><p>His brain couldn't form complete thoughts, but he vaguely registered Gaius helping him from his seat and to his bed, taking off his boots and pulling the thin blanket over him.</p><p>"Y—you drugged me," Merlin slurred, trying to push some accusation into his voice. It came out sleepy and syrupy.</p><p>"You're of no use to anyone—least of all Camelot—when you're in such a state, Merlin," Gaius said gently, patting his hand. He had no right. "Get some rest. You'll feel better in the morning."</p><p>"All the better to yell at you," Merlin mumbled before he couldn't fight any more, and he slipped into a deep, restful sleep.</p><hr/><p>They read more of the entries: together, Gwen and Arthur read of meeting Gwaine (and the knight's secret noble past, which irritated the prince because, well, how many secrets did his friends have?); of Merlin sending Morgana toppling down the stairs and begging the dragon to fix his mistake (and neither Gwen nor Arthur were sure he had made the right choice, though he had certainly made a Merlin-ish one); of Elena and the sidhe inside her (and the pixie that had a crush on Gaius, which Gwen found more disturbing than funny); and of Merlin helping rescue her brother, Elyan, plotting against a scheming, conniving Morgana all the while.</p><p>This entry started off rather predictably:</p><p>
  <em>Arthur is the most self-righteous, gullible, irritating twat I have ever had the pleasure of meeting. </em>
</p><p>The prince sighed, and Gwen let out a smothered giggle. Arthur did his best to school his expression so he wouldn't scowl at her, instead glowering at the blazing fire. The nights were growing colder, even as the deadline for Morgana's army approached. But she would come long before any snow covered the ground, which Arthur could only see as a blessing.</p><p>"How many times am I going to have to read insults against myself?" he asked the flames. They only crackled in response, though he heard another muffled snort from Gwen.</p><p>"How many times did you do something that deserved to be insulted?" she asked, which Arthur refused to dignify with a statement. Why were all his servants so mouthy?</p><p>He continued.</p><p>
  <em>Apparently, Camelot has some bogus thing about the crown prince going on some gods-forsaken quest in order to prove his worth. And Arthur just had to have a "vision"—not a drop of magic in his body, don't know how he would ever see a bloody vision of anything—about retrieving a trident from the realm of the Fisher King, which, by the way, is now called the "Perilous Lands." </em>
</p><p>"Wait—<em>did</em> you see something?" Gwen asked, genuine curiosity in her tone. Arthur looked at her. <em>Why does Merlin constantly have to make me look bad, even when he isn't here?</em></p><p>"No," Arthur admitted grudgingly. "It was a quest my father and I agreed on before-hand, to keep with tradition. It wasn't supposed to be anything I couldn't handle."</p><p>"What do you mean?" she asked. "I thought you did handle it."</p><p>The prince sighed. "You'll see." He kept reading.</p><p>
  <em>And the worst part? Apparently I'm not allowed to come with him! He has to do it "alone." Well, he can die bloody well alone then. </em>
</p><p>That was the end of the entry, so Arthur moved to the next:</p><p>
  <em>So I may have followed him. But the cabbage-head was about to die, so I'm justified (besides, he's already a decent crown prince. I don't know about this "let me go on a quest so I can get killed" rubbish. Who the hell sends their only prince away on a solo mission? That just spells disaster). </em>
</p><p>"Wow, that was almost a compliment," Arthur said, his voice deadpan. "A 'decent crown prince.' I think I might be glowing." Merlin's logic did make a sort of sense, except for the fact that the whole thing was pre-arranged and centuries-old tradition for Uther's lineage. All first-born sons had to go out to prove their worth: retrieve an item, defeat something, rescue someone.</p><p>"Don't get used to it," Gwen said. "I don't think it will last."</p><p>Arthur snorted.</p><p>
  <em>Morgana apparently gave him some kind of gift before he left—a bracelet. I knew she could only be up to something bad, so I asked Gaius about it. It was a phoenix's eye, meant to suck the life out of the wearer. </em>
</p><p>"Oh," Arthur said softly. <em>That </em>was why he had been so weak. Morgana. He had thought it was strange, how tired he'd been. He'd simply thought that he'd over-exerted himself, or he'd come down with some kind of sickness. But it had only been his half-sister, looking to assassinate him once more.</p><p>The thought made him ache.</p><p>"I remember this," Gwen said, and Arthur looked at her in askance. "I saw Morgana using magic, after you left. It felt… wrong. I told Gaius, and he said—well, he told me that she had turned, though not in so many words. I knew he was right: she was… darker. I—I knew she couldn't be my friend, not anymore. Not like that."</p><p>"You—you knew?" Arthur asked, unable to keep the betrayal from his voice. Had everyone known how horrible she'd been except for him? Was he destined to only learn his friends' secrets after they had become a danger? At the last moment?</p><p>"Arthur, no—it wasn't that I didn't trust you," she said. "I wanted to tell you; you have no idea how much I wanted to… But my word against Morgana's? With how much Uther adored her? I would've been executed."</p><p>"I would've defended you," Arthur said, a lump in his throat. Why had she hid this from him? She always seemed so… honest. But, then, so had Merlin. Everyone had secrets, apparently.</p><p>Well, everyone but him. Merlin and Gwen knew basically everything about him, but they had never returned the same courtesy.</p><p>"I don't think it would've been enough." Gwen bit her lip and wouldn't meet his eyes. "You know how much Uther loved—<em>loves—</em>Morgana."</p><p>"At least now I know why," Arthur said bitterly. The words were like acid, bubbling up from his gut and burning his throat along the way. "I can't stand these secrets, Gwen. They… they tear me apart, inside and out. Is there no one who will tell me the honest truth?"</p><p>"You know very well I would've lost my head, Arthur Pendragon," she said sharply, glaring up at him. "You can afford to be honest when you're in a position of power. I can't—and nor can Merlin. If you speak honestly, and someone doesn't like what you say, nothing happens. If <em>I </em>speak honestly, and someone doesn't like what I say, they might beat me. Or worse."</p><p>She was right, but it still stung. "But you can speak honestly to me," he said softly. "I have mistreated servants in the past—but never beaten them. And I would never let anyone hurt you."</p><p>She laid a hand on his arm. "I know. Even before you changed, you were mean but never cruel, not like that. But this isn't about just you and me—it's about everyone. You must know that I have no liberty to speak, not as a servant, and a woman one to boot."</p><p>Her eyes were a warm but fiery brown. And she was right, again. How many times had Merlin been right about a noble but unable to bring up an accusation without fear of punishment? A servant had to have overwhelming proof before they could do anything—a peasant's word against a noble's meant virtually nothing; the noble would win without trial for the peasant.</p><p><em>But the lower classes have no honor, </em>he heard his father's voice say. <em>No loyalty. Of course their word cannot be trusted; they have inferior breeding. No intelligence or integrity—just seething masses. </em></p><p>Arthur had never felt as such, especially after meeting Merlin and getting to know Gwen. Both were as loyal as Leon, and they were more intelligent than half his council, at least in the ways that mattered. He was in no place to judge her choices, not from where he was, from his station. The crown weighed heavily on his head—but a serving tray could be a burden, too.</p><p>"You're right," he said, taking her hand. She smiled up at him, and he smiled back. "I didn't think."</p><p>"I know." She took her hand from his gently. "It's one of your defining features, as Merlin would say. And I know it won't be the same when you're king. It gives me hope—<em>you </em>give me hope."</p><p>"Now you really do sound like Merlin. Insult me one moment and give me a pep-talk the next," Arthur said. "But thank you."</p><p>"If I were Merlin, I'd insult you again," Gwen warned.</p><p>"And ruin the moment." He grinned before continuing.</p><p>
  <em>I went after him. Fortunately, I met Gwaine in a tavern nearby. Once I explained everything to him, he agreed to help, and we rode out to find that stupid, ridiculous man. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>And he's lucky we did! I found him collapsed in the Fisher King's castle, about to be eaten by wyverns. They're close enough to dragons that I was able to order them off, and Gwaine didn't seem to notice, thank the gods. I got that stupid bracelet off him, and he woke up. </em>
</p><p>That was interesting. He could order wyverns around? What all did being a dragonlord entail? He wished Merlin had written more about it, as much as the topic was painful. Arthur still felt cold when he thought of what he had almost done in the dragon's cavern, the beauty of the magic that would've been wiped out.</p><p>The beauty of <em>Merlin's </em>magic.</p><p>
  <em>Naturally, he was anything but pleased to see us (never mind that we'd just saved his ungrateful life!). We went searching for the trident together, and I met the Fisher King.</em>
</p><p>"He didn't tell me this part," Arthur said, but his tone was more resigned than anything else. The prince probably wouldn't have believed him anyway.</p><p>
  <em>He gave me a vial of water (he said I'd need it. Why is it that everyone who gives me advice is so cryptic I can't even do anything with said advice?) in exchange for an end to his suffering. I gave him the bracelet, and he died almost right away. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>Arthur found the trident, and we left. I've hidden the vial underneath my floorboards. </em>
</p><p>"That still doesn't seem like the most secure place," Gwen commented. "Though I suppose it worked for years."</p><p>"Until he forgot to put his books back underneath it." Arthur rolled his eyes. "It's a wonder no one found out before now."</p><p>But he was somehow grateful the man had forgotten. If he had found out some other way… In the heat of battle, in the quiet of the night… Would he have gone through with his darkest thoughts? Would he have told Merlin to kneel—on the forest floor, on cold stone, in a field somewhere? Would he have drawn his sword, steel sliding from its sheath, flashing in the sun?</p><p>Would Merlin have bowed his head, looked up at him? Would he have tried to run or just accepted it? He never would've raised a hand against the prince—Arthur knew that, at least. Would he have cried?</p><p>The noise of blade shearing through flesh—would it have sounded the same? Different? The body toppling, the head rolling, mouth agape, eyes wide—betrayal, that the man he had given so much for had killed him without so much as speaking to him—</p><p>Arthur felt sick. His stomach roiled, and bile rose in his mouth, choking him, a sour hand gripping his tongue.</p><p>"You're right," Gwen said. "He needs to be more careful." She seemed not to notice Arthur's racing thoughts, cold sweat prickling his forehead. He couldn't believe how close he had come to that scenario—so close to the edge of something irreversible, something that would've killed him. Slowly, perhaps, bit by agonizing bit, the way an infected wound could kill a man if left untreated to fester.</p><p>"Yes." The prince cleared his throat, shaking his head. "Well. It's late." He looked out the window to find his words to be true.</p><p>"Right again." She stood and kissed him softly on the cheek. He didn't even feel it—he only felt cold, despite the fire. "Good night, Arthur."</p><p>He managed a "Good night, Gwen," and just seconds after she left, pulled the chamber pot out. The nausea reached a crescendo and he vomited, feeling utterly sick. How could he have almost done such a thing?</p><p>…<em>decent crown prince…</em></p><p>…<em>no loyalty…</em></p><p>…<em>the cabbage-head was about to die…</em></p><p>…<em>no intelligence or integrity…</em></p><p>Arthur's head spun with voices. Merlin's, his father's, Gwen's. He pushed the chamber pot away and rinsed his mouth with the last bit of wine from his pitcher.</p><p>…<em>you give me hope…</em></p><p>That hope would be deserved. He swore it; when he was king, things would be different. Things would be better.</p><p>First, he just had to fight off Morgana's army. And sleep. Sleep sounded good.</p><hr/><p>When Merlin woke up, he was surprised to find himself in bed—and with his shoes removed, no less. He often found himself, upon waking, in the goblin's room or the dragon's cavern. Or, once, in the forest. <em>That </em>had been awkward, especially because a few squirrels (and a fox) had decided he'd made a good pillow and had <em>not </em>been happy when he informed them he had to be going.</p><p>Then, the warlock recalled exactly how he'd gotten there—and why he wasn't anywhere else: Gaius had drugged him. The hazy, warm cloud of sleep dulled his anger, but he knew it would get clearer as he awoke more thoroughly. He stretched, light from his window indicating it was just before dawn. At least he wouldn't be late; he had no desire to trigger one of Arthur's strange moods and been thrown in the stocks again.</p><p>He sat up and swung himself out of bed, walking over to the bucket of water he kept by the wall. Splashing water on his face, he scrubbed the sleep from his eyes. He had never found a proper explanation for Arthur's bizarre behavior (behavior which hadn't stopped, frankly)—or been given a proper apology, for that matter, although things between them had mostly returned to normal.</p><p>Merlin dressed himself, thinking about all the things he had pushed to the back of his mind in favor of concentrating on Morgana: Arthur's oddness, his missing diary, even Agravaine… <em>I'm not about to put out a campfire when the whole forest is ablaze, </em>he told himself firmly. He laced up his boots and left his room.</p><p>The main chambers already smelled strongly of herbs, and he noticed Gaius preparing some early-morning potions.</p><p>"Was drugging me really necessary?" Merlin asked crossly.</p><p>"Good morning to you, too, Merlin. Breakfast is on the table," his mentor said, not even turning around. Sure enough, there was some watery-looking oatmeal and an apple, along with a pitcher of watered-down wine.</p><p>"Are you even going to answer me?" When silence met his question, Merlin sighed and crossed over to take his seat. He spooned oatmeal into his bowl (dribbling a little on the table, but he didn't care enough to clean it). It tasted bland, like it always did, but it was food. He ate quickly.</p><p>"How's your headache?" his mentor asked.</p><p>Merlin realized that it was no where near as bad as it had been the night before—just the barest whisper of the pulse, dulled to the far reaches of his mind. "Better," he answered grudgingly. "But you still shouldn't have drugged me."</p><p>"You wouldn't have gotten any sleep otherwise," Gaius said, finally turning. His eyebrow rose. "I did what I needed to, my boy. You were about to pass out—any magic you might've done would've been barely-controlled and dangerous."</p><p>He was likely right, but it still hadn't given him the right to put Merlin to sleep. "It wasn't that bad—I've managed on less." For brief periods of time—far briefer than these agonizing weeks had been—but Merlin wasn't about to qualify his statement. "And now I'm behind."</p><p>"What on earth could be so important that—" He stopped as the door swung open, Gwen poking her head in.</p><p>"Er." Both of them stared at her. "Hello, Gaius, Merlin." She stepped inside, closing the door behind her. "Sorry—I didn't mean to interrupt anything." In one hand, she held a basket.</p><p>"Don't worry about it, my dear," Merlin's mentor said, waving a hand. "Sit down, sit down. Did you need something? Perhaps you were hoping to read—"</p><p>"No!" Gwen exclaimed, glancing around nervously. Gaius's eyebrow began to again creep up his forehead. Was she embarrassed that she had borrowed the man's book? Merlin blinked; they both knew she could read, so it wasn't as though she were pretending to read, as the servant had heard one noble once accuse her. "I—I mean, that's not why I'm here. I brought pastries." Here, she smiled and held up the basket.</p><p>"Oh, well, thank you," Gaius said, taken aback.</p><p>Gwen set the basket down on the table and opened it, releasing a sweet smell that almost made Merlin melt into the floor it smelled so good. "I asked the cook if she might give me a few—she never uses the first batch she makes, you know, says they're never as good as the others. And she likes me, so she said yes, and I thought it was far too many for me to eat on my own, so I knew I had to share—and of course you both came to mind—"</p><p>"They smell lovely, Gwen, thank you," Merlin interrupted, giving her his largest grin. She could go on for hours if he let her, and he thought he might spare her the embarrassment. He wondered why she had grown so flustered around him.</p><p>"Well, here—take one," Gwen said, handing him one of the pastries. Merlin wasted no time biting into it. It was really quite good, though it was still a tad too hot.</p><p>"They're good," he said after swallowing. Gaius came and took one as well.</p><p>"This was very thoughtful of you, Guinevere," he said.</p><p>"Yes, especially since I have to live with Gaius's cooking." Merlin polished off the pastry as his mentor scowled at him. "There's only so much tasteless gruel I can eat."</p><p>"If my cooking is so terrible, perhaps it would be preferable to starve," Gaius suggested mildly. Merlin just grinned at him and took another pastry. He noticed that Gwen seemed to be watching him from out of the corner of her eye, as though she were taking note of how he ate.</p><p>It was a tad disconcerting. And as soon as he finished with that one, Gwen not-so-subtly pushed the basket closer, although between the oatmeal and the pastries, Merlin felt rather full.</p><p>"I think I'm okay," he said.</p><p>"No, I insist," Gwen said, pushing it even closer. "I don't want them to go to waste." He wasn't expecting her tone to be so firm.</p><p>"Um, I'm sure the other servants would love to finish the rest for you," Merlin said, leaning away from the basket. "And I should really be getting to Arthur—the prat needs waking, dressing, feeding just like any child, really can't neglect him—"</p><p>The warlock stood before she got any more ideas about the amount of food he should be eating and left the room, only feeling slightly bad. Why was it that his friends had to be act strangely <em>now? </em>Why not a month ago, when he had time to deal with their strangeness? He shook his head and continued down the hall and up the stairs.</p><p>Gwen's behavior only grew more erratic as the day went on.</p><p>Merlin would be doing some menial chore—taking laundry down to the washroom, fetching food for the prince, delivering notices to other nobles—when the serving girl would come out of seemingly nowhere and corner him.</p><p>With <em>food. </em></p><p>She offered him bread, fruit, meat, and Merlin had to wonder where the hell she was getting it from. Was she stealing from the kitchens? The servant grew paranoid whenever he had to leave Arthur's chambers, peering around corners and glancing behind himself. But she always seemed to know where he was, like she had some sixth-Merlin sense.</p><p>After he'd delivered Arthur's dirty dishes to the kitchens, he almost ran back up the stairs, terrified Gwen would corner him with more food. She was like a witch in one of those old stories, fattening a child in order to make them good for eating. Except this was his friend, and she had apparently lost her damn mind. Maybe the stress of Morgana's encroaching army had finally made her snap.</p><p>As Merlin almost sprinted past the guards at the end of the prince's hall, they watched him, confusion clear in their eyes.</p><p>"Something the matter, Merlin?" one of them called, but he didn't answer, wrenching Arthur's door open and darting inside, closing it with an audible bang. <em>Gwen can't get to me here; she wouldn't dare come into Arthur's chambers with so many people about. </em></p><p>"<em>Mer</em>lin." Arthur's voice cut through his thoughts. His back pressed up against the door—as though he was preparing to keep it closed physically, if Gwen tried to force it open—the servant looked over. "Why are you running into my chambers like a chicken with its head cut off?"</p><p>Merlin straightened, fixing his crooked neckerchief and brushing down his tunic. "Well, sire, I'm fairly certain chickens can't run anywhere with their heads cut off, so I certainly haven't been mimicking one."</p><p>"Answer the question. You look like you're about to fall over with fright," the prince commented. The prince was sitting at his desk, quill in hand; evidently he'd been in the middle of writing something.</p><p>"It's Gwen," Merlin blurted.</p><p>"You're… afraid of Gwen?" Arthur repeated, disbelieving. He snorted derisively and dipped the quill into the inkpot again. "Has she threatened to sew up the holes in your clothes?"</p><p>This Merlin took offense to—he took care of his clothes. There weren't any holes to sew because he'd already sewn them. "No," he said, stepping away from the door. "She—" He glanced behind him, as though she might magically appear, summoned by her name. He lowered his voice regardless. "She keeps trying to <em>feed </em>me."</p><p>"Feed you?" Arthur echoed. "Ah, yes, the worst of crimes. I'll be sure to speak with her. It's pointless, anyway—you've always looked like an under-stuffed scarecrow."</p><p>"At least I don't look like an over-stuffed cow," Merlin retorted. "And it's terrifying, I tell you. She's been following me, offering me—apples, pears, bread, chicken, tarts. She's gone insane!"</p><p>"I'm not fat, <em>Mer</em>lin—if I'm overstuffed, it's with <em>muscle. </em>And you're being ridiculous," Arthur said. He leaned over the paper and tapped the desk with one finger. "This proposal is headache enough without you distracting me."</p><p>The servant put aside his bewilderment at Gwen's behavior (which he could add to the growing list of things he would need to figure out after he had helped drive off Morgana) and moved closer.</p><p>"What's the proposal for?" he asked. Arthur had yet to write a word. "Is it for the council?"</p><p>"We must begin evacuating the outer-lying villages out of the Sluagh's path. And we must give them the resources to do so," Arthur said. "Really, we should've done it earlier, but… It will be difficult to persuade the council; they won't want to waste resources on—" He stopped, realizing who he was talking to.</p><p>"Worthless peasants?" Merlin offered, not unkindly. "Well, you'll have to make it high-handed, then. Like it will help the crown's image, maybe—or benefit it somehow. Increase the masses' loyalty to the Pendragons, or something."</p><p>The prince tilted his head. "Yes, something like that might work. In fact…" His eyes gleamed. "I have other things I need to review, so this is your task for the afternoon."</p><p>"What? But I'm supposed to clean your—"</p><p>Arthur shook his head. "No. This is what you're doing—you can do your chores afterward." Merlin sighed, knowing by now it would be pointless to argue, even though it might mean he would have to stay late. He had things to do—<em>important </em>things.</p><p>But he took a few sheets of paper, one of Arthur's quills, and an inkpot (he took the quill the prince had been using, just out of spite, and Arthur gave him an irritated glower). The servant sat at the table, running a hand through his hair. <em>How to phrase this?</em></p><p>At least Gwen wouldn't be able to ambush him for a few hours.</p><hr/><p>Arthur only glanced up as Gwen came into the room. He was exhausted from the day, but they had so few entries left… He wanted to finish them before Morgana came. He wanted to know Merlin, know all he had done, in case—in case the unthinkable happened.</p><p>He was sat at the table, as he normally was, the journal in front of him. He'd poured two goblets of wine, and the fire still warmed the room, shielding them from the chill of the wind.</p><p>"Good evening," Gwen said, sliding into the seat next to him.</p><p>"Good evening," Arthur greeted. He side-eyed her before asking properly: "What did you do to Merlin?"</p><p>A furrow appeared before her brows. "Nothing, as far as I know."</p><p>"Funny, because he came into my chambers this afternoon like some great beast was after him. I thought he might pass out from fright. He complained of you… trying to feed him, I believe it was," Arthur said, raising an eyebrow. It was difficult to make out with her darker skin, but he was certain her cheeks warmed.</p><p>"Well, if I did, it was for his own good," she said. "I've been researching magic, Arthur—" Here, the prince spluttered—"and a sorcerer—or mage, as they're called—needs to be well-fed when they perform magic. So I thought…"</p><p>"Ambushing him with food at every opportunity would get him to eat more?" he asked. "No wonder he thought you'd gone mad."</p><p>She smacked his arm—not enough to hurt, just playfully. "He needs to eat more, even if he weren't doing magic. I was only trying to help."</p><p>"If by 'help' you mean terrify, you did an excellent job. And how on earth have you managed to do any research?" He himself had gone (surreptitiously) looking in the library for information on the rune he'd seen, but had found nothing except a few bestiaries detailing vicious magical creatures that could rend a man limb from limb. He'd even tried looking for the room that had housed the goblin (that <em>Mer</em>lin had released!). The prince hadn't had any luck, however; he suspected his father had burned them all.</p><p>"Gaius has a book," Gwen replied. "On basic magic. He lent it to me—and I managed to do it without Merlin knowing. I still think we should tell him." Arthur shook his head, and she didn't press the subject.</p><p>"So what did you learn?" he asked.</p><p>"Well, apparently there are different levels of magic one can have—labels that tell you the sort of training a mage has gone through. 'Mage' is the term for any magic user. And, well, it tells about the different kinds of magic—did you know there were different kinds? I didn't. And other things," she said. Her voice was full of fascination, and Arthur couldn't help but hold the same interest, though it was tinged with a wary fear.</p><p>"Why on earth would my father let him keep such a thing?" It didn't make sense. Unless he'd kept it illegally, but then it seemed like too much of a risk to let Gwen read it.</p><p>"Gaius said for research purposes. It contains no spells, only basic information on magic-users and magic," Gwen said. "I can see how it might come in handy at times."</p><p>"Yeah," Arthur grumbled, "especially for teaching wayward sorcerers." He pulled the journal closer and opened it. "Shall we?"</p><p>She nodded, so he began:</p><p>
  <em>Ye gods, I hate my life. I can't tell you how much, reader. I've done a lot of things to protect Arthur and Camelot, but never have I had to make such a sacrifice. I'm comfortable in the shadows, behind the scenes. But this? </em>
</p><p>
  <em>I suppose it was all worth it, in the end. Morgana's schemes grow darker by the day. I had thought that perhaps Gwen of all people might be spared; they've been best friends for as long as I've known them. But I shouldn't have underestimated how evil Morgana's grown.</em>
</p><p>"He likes a bit of build up, doesn't he?" Arthur muttered, and Gwen gave an un-ladylike snort. Well, it was true; the man was going on about all the horrible things he'd had to do without explaining them. And this "Gwen might be spared" nonsense—what in God's name was he talking about?</p><p>
  <em>She framed Gwen for enchanting the prince to fall in love with her. She planted some kind of fake magical poultice beneath Arthur's pillow and led Uther out to where he and Gwen were having a secret picnic in the woods. The king knew that the only way his son could ever be in love with a servant was if he'd been enchanted. I didn't know what to do; Uther was about to execute her. He wouldn't accept that Arthur was well unless the sorcerer that had enchanted him was dead.</em>
</p><p>"That was her?" Arthur exclaimed, rage creeping into his voice despite himself. Of all the foul things she could've done… She knew herself the fear of a looming execution, as a person with magic. And to burden a friend with such fear, all the while trying to kill her…</p><p>Gwen's lips were tight, but she didn't look surprised. "I knew she was acting oddly," she said. "I just didn't think… I thought she was still my friend, even after what I'd seen. I wanted her to be my friend." Her voice was also pressed tightly, bound in emotion.</p><p>"Wait. I remember this—except I don't recall Morgana being involved at all. It was that old sorcerer…." Arthur trailed off. "He didn't—no. He did. I knew that old man looked familiar!"</p><p>"What do you mean? What did he do?" Gwen asked, but Arthur just cleared his throat and kept reading.</p><p>
  <em>So I gave him a different sorcerer. I aged myself to a man of about eighty—and it was one of the worst things I've ever done. My whole body ached, and I had a headache (I think from the transformation). It was very taxing. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>Anyway, I staged a whole thing with me planting another poultice. Arthur "caught" me, but he was a little slow on the uptake (as he usually is). It was nice to call Uther a toad to his face and get away with it, though. I've wanted to insult the man the first damn day I got here.</em>
</p><p>Arthur couldn't exactly blame him, not after everything he'd read, but it still rankled that his father was so disliked. He wondered what the townspeople thought of the king, now infirm, if they would turn on him given the chance.</p><p><em>(Can you blame them? He turned on </em>them<em> without so much as a thought. He's the worst kind of hypocrite. He lied about magic, about using it. And he murdered people for having the same power he once sought. Not execute—murder. An "execution" implies formality, a wrongdoing. What Father did… It was little more than slaughter.)</em></p><p>"I can't believe he did that for me," Gwen said. "I was so scared, so certain I would die…"</p><p>"None of us were about to let that happen," Arthur reassured her, putting a hand on her arm. "If Merlin hadn't taken the blame, you know one of us would've helped you escape. I could never have watched you die, Guinevere." <em>And clearly Merlin couldn't either. </em></p><p>She sighed and leaned her head on his shoulder. "I know—but not everything goes your way, Arthur. I was ready to die on that pyre. Not wanting, but ready."</p><p>The silence, broken only by the crackling fire, lasted for a few moments before Arthur continued.</p><p>
  <em>There was a slight problem, however: I couldn't change back. So there I was, stuck in the cells. I thought that at least I'd spared Gwen the pain. And it's not like anyone but Gaius would know it was me who'd been executed. Merlin would've just—disappeared.</em>
</p><p>What a horrible thought. Arthur imagined his servant leaving, never to return. How confused and worried he would've been—though his father would've sensed it, the prince would have never been able to share his torment with anyone. The king wouldn't have allowed it.</p><p>
  <em>But Gaius came through. He managed to brew me a potion that would change me back (and I'll never take my young body for granted again). I escaped the pyre and changed just in time. The after-effects left me a tad dazed, and Arthur (the ungrateful prat), thought I was drunk. As though I would drink when I thought one of my dearest friends might be executed. </em>
</p><p>"That was a bit unfair of you," Gwen said. "And after all he did—"</p><p>"I didn't know!" Arthur protested. "I thought he'd been drinking <em>because </em>he cared about you. He always seemed to disappear when something big was happening; I thought it was a coping mechanism of some kind."</p><p>"It's a wonder none of us pieced it together before now." Gwen sat up, staring at the journal. "All the signs are so clear in retrospect."</p><p>"He's a good liar," Arthur said, and if it came out bitterly, neither of them commented. It was true, if not exactly right. The prince suspected it was more that Merlin was good at coming up with a persona that could conceivably cover for him, rather than lying directly. While Merlin had often lied poorly, he had built such an air of… incompetence and innocence that no one had ever suspected him seriously of sorcery.</p><p>He continued:</p><p><em>Arthur </em>also <em>thought I'd been at the tavern all day because of course I hadn't been able to attend him as an eighty year old (and he gave me extra chores as punishment), but no one died, so I think it's a small price to pay. </em></p><p>"Well, I think it's a small price to pay," Gwen said lightly, rubbing her neck.</p><p>"We owe him a lot," Arthur said, sighing. <em>And I nearly repaid him with death. </em>The horror of the situation hadn't entirely worn off, and the prince doubted it ever would. Murder was like that. He could still recall vividly many of the men and women he'd killed over his life, if not their names.</p><p>He began the next entry.</p><p>
  <em>Never let it be said that I like Uther. I don't. He's a terrifying tyrant who's hunted down thousands of people like me. But I can't ever seem to let him die. Arthur loves him too much, and it would throw the kingdom into instability. Arthur doesn't deserve that, not from me. </em>
</p><p>It was humbling to see how far Merlin was willing to go for him—and gratifying to know their friendship had never been one-sided, as Arthur had originally feared. The reminder of his father, however, was painful, knowing that the man lying a few hallways over was considered a tyrant by so many, and had caused so much grief.</p><p>Arthur might have disagreed with his father over many things (and he continued to think about how the man had lied about the circumstances of his birth), but he still loved the man. He doubted that would ever change.</p><p>
  <em>But there are other sorcerers who aren't as understanding. And the worst part? I can always empathize with them. I know why they do what they do, the pain that they hold in their hearts. The only difference I try not to let mine fester and spread to the rest of me. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>It started with a tournament (as many bad things do). The King decided to join (something he hasn't done since I came to Camelot years ago), as did a young sorcerer. He uses a ring to help channel his magic.</em>
</p><p>"That won't end well," Gwen said. "You know, I think Merlin might be right about tournaments."</p><p>"He doesn't like them because he can't fight to save his life—with swords, anyway. Pure and simple jealousy."</p><p>"Yes, I'm sure that Merlin—a man who can summon fire to his finger tips and animate dead things to life—is jealous of knights who wield steel," Gwen said sarcastically. He could tell she was startled by her own words; she paused, as though rolling them around on her tongue.</p><p><em>He could do those things, couldn't he? </em>It was still a foreign image, even though Arthur had <em>seen </em>the man performing magic. Since the prince didn't have a comeback to her (rather valid) point, he kept reading.</p><p>
  <em>I told him to drop out—that should Uther find out, he would be killed. He didn't listen, and the sorcerer hurt one of his opponents badly using his magic. I feared for the King's life (though perhaps "fear" is too strong a word). </em>
</p><p>
  <em>I told him to drop out again, but he didn't listen. When he met with Uther in battle, I used my magic to thwart his. He was right angry with me afterward, called me a traitor to our kind. But he shouldn't have gone around using magic to hurt people and win glory like some obnoxious knight!</em>
</p><p>"We're not obnoxious," Arthur couldn't help but interject, frowning down at the diary. He didn't care what Merlin said; being a knight was a <em>noble </em>and <em>worthy </em>profession. "And I can't believe he got so close he could've killed my father." It was a slightly horrifying thought, knowing that someone which such ill intentions had made it so far.</p><p>"Merlin didn't let him," Gwen said reassuringly, tone gentle. "There's no point in worrying over something long past."</p><p>"Yeah," Arthur agreed, and he read the last paragraph.</p><p>
  <em>We departed on decent terms, though. I told him that he would be welcome back, should magic ever return to Camelot.</em>
</p><p>The corners of his mouth dropped again. "He can't make promises like that—the man tried to kill the king." He wouldn't be welcome in Camelot no matter what.</p><p>"Surely you have to understand why he did it," Gwen said. "And he didn't go through with it—he left when Merlin asked him to."</p><p>"Only after Merlin proved capable of stopping him," the prince pointed out. "And I understand why he did it, but threatening the king's life can't have such minimal consequences."</p><p>He could tell Gwen disagreed by the way she closed her mouth, but she clearly didn't want to argue. He didn't want to argue, either. And unless Merlin told them the sorcerer's name and description, Arthur would have no way of knowing if the man returned—assuming he welcomed magic into Camelot…</p><p>The thought made him dizzy, so he pushed it away. He had the diary to deal with, and the Sluagh. Morgana. It could wait. That future—that <em>possibility</em>—would have to wait.</p><p>"Are you up for another?" he asked, and Gwen nodded. So Arthur began the next entry.</p><p>
  <em>A lot has happened since last I wrote, reader. Morgana has taken Camelot; she has finally revealed her true intentions. She has crowned herself queen while Arthur and I were away attempting to retrieve the Cup of Life.</em>
</p><p>Arthur paused. They were close to the present: this had been only been weeks before. He fought back the memory of it: the horror at the discovery of his sister's heritage and what she planned to do with it; the fear for his people, his father; the sick feeling in his gut that he wouldn't be able to take back his kingdom.</p><p>
  <em>It was a fool's errand from the beginning. The druids had kept the Cup—a powerful magical artifact—safe for a while now. If it hadn't fallen into Morgause's hands all that while, the thing was safe enough.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>But of course Uther didn't see it like that. So Arthur and I went after the Cup, and about five minutes after getting it, we lost it to Morgana and Morgause. We also met up with Gwaine along the way (arguably the only good thing about this whole venture). </em>
</p><p>"I can't believe you lost it so quickly," Gwen interrupted.</p><p>"Merlin's exaggerating," Arthur said. <em>Though not by much. </em>They had lost it rather quickly; it likely would've been safer with the druids. <em>I wonder where it is now… </em>He'd put it in the vaults, but he couldn't help but think Merlin might have taken it out. "It was longer than that."</p><p>"Still," Gwen said. The prince continued.</p><p>
  <em>When we returned to Camelot, Morgause, Cenred, and Morgana had already created an immortal army with the cup, using it to take the citadel. There were dead in the streets, houses burned and defenses destroyed. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>And then we had to leave. We're living in a cave now—Gaius, myself, Gwaine, Arthur, and Elyan, Gwen's brother. </em>
</p><p>"It ends there, but I'm assuming he explains what happens in the next one," Arthur said.</p><p>"We're nearly at the present," Gwen said, almost guiltily. Arthur understood: this close to where they were now made it all real. She probably felt bad about violating his privacy. The prince understood, but he didn't agree.</p><p>He had originally vowed to read the diary's entirety to know whether Merlin should be punished—likely before he banished the man. Now, he was reading it for an entirely different reason. But he would finish it nonetheless.</p><p>"So we are," he said. He started to read the next entry.</p><p>
  <em>We've re-taken Camelot! Emptying the soldiers' blood from the Cup of Life destroyed Morgause's immortal army. I pray to the gods that Arthur will not ask why Lancelot and I were unable to take out the warning bell. We did not even attempt it. </em>
</p><p>Arthur couldn't find it in himself to be surprised. He was sure now that if Merlin had truly attempted to take out the warning bell, he wouldn't have had any trouble. Though <em>why </em>the man hadn't tried was another matter.</p><p>
  <em>Sorry, I'm getting ahead of myself. We were still hiding out in a cave, and the prince despaired of re-taking Camelot. I could tell his father's fate and Morgana's betrayal had disheartened him. I did my best to convince him to at least try. </em>
</p><p>He had felt terrible during their time in the cave, like his whole life was crumbling beneath his feet, cracking above his head and raining down in huge, deadly chunks. Merlin had managed to lift him out of his funk, but only a little.</p><p>
  <em>I also accidentally broke the vial of water the Fisher King gave me. But it was okay. Freya came out of the water and told me, in not so many words, that I needed to retrieve Excalibur because it had the ability to slay the undead. So I did as she said.</em>
</p><p>"This is such a short explanation for something so strange," the prince commented. He took a sip of his wine. "You would think he might've been more surprised to see someone who'd died in some water."</p><p>"He likely didn't want to dwell on it," Gwen said. "I'm sure Freya is painful for him to think of." The reminder that Merlin had liked Freya—and that Arthur had killed her—sent both guilt and an odd sort of jealousy through the prince, though he couldn't identify the reason for the latter emotion.</p><p>"Likely," he finally agreed. He read:</p><p>
  <em>Gwen and Leon escaped the citadel, and we met up with Lancelot and a companion of his he'd been traveling with—a big bear of a man called Percival. Unfortunately, Leon and Gwen led soldiers to our cave, but with everyone we managed to retreat to an ancient castle.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>There, Arthur knighted Elyan, Gwaine, Percival, and Lancelot. He came up with a plan to rescue Uther—a plan in which Lancelot and I were meant to take out the warning bell. Instead, we found the Cup (it was so powerful I could sense it) and emptied it. Gaius had said this was how the immortal army had been defeated before, and the tale proved true: all the soldiers turned to dust. I pray Arthur will not ask about that either. </em>
</p><p>"Did you?" Gwen asked, and it took Arthur a moment to realize what she meant.</p><p>"No," he replied. "I was so grateful at the time—I assumed that something had happened to Morgause or Morgana to break the spell. Never did I suspect that Merlin, of all people…" <em>Saved Camelot by emptying the cup himself. </em>He'd never suspected Merlin of any of the courageous things he'd done. Before all this, he only suspected the man of going to the tavern and shirking chores.</p><p>
  <em>Morgause confronted us and fought. She was injured in the battle, though I know not how badly. Morgana was so distraught she nearly brought down the castle in her grief. Many are dead, but many more are alive. Still, I cannot help but dwell on the people I knew. I wish we had been able to save more. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>I know, though, I must be thankful that others survived. </em>
</p><p>"That's the end," Arthur said. "I don't know how many more entries there are." Merlin had filled up much of the book, and the prince only had to flip thirty or so pages before he reached the end.</p><p>"I suppose you had better read the next one," Gwen said. Arthur nodded and took a sip of wine before he read.</p><p>
  <em>I fear Arthur will never accept magic. He blames it for Morgana's treachery, for her corruption. He can't see the real culprit: her fear and her anger and her hate. He confessed this to me: if magic could make wicked those even as good as Morgana, it was truly evil. I can never tell him. Even if he were to decide to spare my life, our friendship ending would be too much for me to bear.</em>
</p><p>The admission—among the other words—made Arthur's mouth go dry. Had Merlin truly grown so despairing? The prince thought he would have been delighted that Morgana was gone, perhaps even secretly pleased that Uther was indisposed (he regretted thinking this unfair thought almost immediately). But this Merlin—this was a Merlin who was afraid he would be keeping secrets the rest of his life.</p><p>
  <em>And I cannot guarantee that he would spare my life. He would regret it, I think, but Arthur in the grips of his fury doesn't always think of the consequences. He tried to kill his own father, after all, for his hypocrisy. I don't dare wonder what he may do to me if he found out I am the thing he most despises. </em>
</p><p>Arthur blinked. Merlin knew him too well, most days. It made the prince feel naked, exposed, even though his servant wasn't here to condemn him. He <em>had </em>almost killed Merlin in the grips of his fury, not thinking of the consequences.</p><p>
  <em>(Did you? Would you have ever gone through with it? You stared at him in that cave—in the midst of doing magic—and refused. Face it, you never could've struck him down. Not in sleep, not unawares. Not on the pyre or chopping block. The most you could've done is banish him.)</em>
</p><p>"Arthur," Gwen broke through his thoughts, patting his hand. "You didn't hurt him. You don't despise him." The words soothed him slightly, though his insides still churned fiercely.</p><p>"But I was so close. <em>So </em>close," he said hoarsely. Gwen just sat there, as though she didn't know what to say, patting his hand. Her callused fingers were rough, but he didn't mind—it gave them texture, character.</p><p>They sat like that for a time, Gwen offering him what comfort she could. Part of the prince wanted to bury his face in her hair and have her arms wrap around her, but another part of him knew he didn't deserve even these small ministrations; after all, <em>he </em>had almost killed Merlin, not the other way around.</p><p>He glanced down at the diary—it was an entry he'd read before. "I've read the rest of it," he admitted. "Though I don't mind reading it again, if you'd like—"</p><p>Gwen was already shaking her head. She withdrew her hand, peering down at the diary. "No, it's fine. I don't suppose there are any more life-shattering revelations in these last few pages?"</p><p>"Not as such," the prince replied. "More of the same, though Merlin admits that he will be trying riskier magic, knowing that Camelot can't currently withstand the full strength of an army right now."</p><p>"Riskier?" Gwen said, pulling the journal toward her. "More risky than what he's already done? I fell like he's been plenty risky." She had an odd gleam to her eye, and she looked at the nearly-finished loaf of bread Merlin had left in case Arthur wanted to finish it.</p><p>"I think if you try to feed Merlin anything more, he might explode," he said.</p><p>"Only one way to find out," Gwen muttered, but he pretended not to have heard. "Anyway—I think it best I go back." The serving girl rose. "Good night, Arthur."</p><p>"Good night," he said to her back as she left his chambers.</p><hr/><p>Merlin closed his eyes. He'd decided to cast the spell in his room; Gaius would be just outside if something went wrong (not that he was telling his mentor what he was doing). He sat cross-legged on his bed, still mostly fully dressed, though he'd taken off his shoes. Whatever Arthur said, he <em>wasn't </em>a heathen when it came to dirt—he just didn't have a lot of time to be clean.</p><p>His headache had gradually returned, the pounding accompanied by a chorus of demonic whispers. Merlin's mind flashed back to that place—to <em>Flæsc—</em>whenever he heard them. The dread mounted within him; it was close, so close, to the final summoning. The thinning between the barriers would tear, rent apart by Morgana and her band of mages.</p><p>Gorge rose in the back of Merlin's throat, imagining how the vicious things he'd seen in his short time in the other plane would come through in a great gray torrent, flooding through the sky. She would do it under the cover of darkness, of course—the Sluagh wouldn't be used to the sun's brightness.</p><p>Merlin tried to calm, centering himself. <em>You've done this before. Twice on accident, once on purpose. </em></p><p>His magic thrashed within him, in time to the pounding and whispers. It didn't like how thin the barriers were; it wanted to do something about it. The warlock reigned it in forcefully, as he'd done all his life, and it settled back down, a soft warmth next to his heart.</p><p>Merlin didn't know where Morgana was, but it was possible to focus on a person and not a place when soul-walking. So he focused on what her magic tasted like, on the image in his head. She had fair skin and dark hair, a painted face and a fancy dress. But her lips were twisted into a devilish smirk, and her eyes glowed a polluted yellow.</p><p>The warlock forced himself to relax, though it wasn't too difficult when he was so tired.</p><p>This sensation was different than the one he'd felt in Kilgharrah's clearing, perhaps because of the distance: a watery feeling, washing him away as though he were a stain on a table, or a message written in sand. It loosened him, separated him, and he was gone—whisked away by his own will, this time, and not the pull of the thinning barriers. He could feel wind whipping through his ethereal form as he travelled leagues in an instant. One moment in Camelot, the next somewhere else entirely.</p><p>He found himself outside a rather normal-looking camp. There were ten or fifteen tents set up, surrounding a fire pit. The flames burned low, but they were bright enough to illuminate the cookware beside it—pots, bowls, spoons. Sentries stood on the outskirts.</p><p>It all <em>looked </em>normal, but Merlin realized he could feel the magic encasing it; it was suffocating and eerily familiar. It tasted like acid and rot and like sweet, heavy honey, like Morgana. The place was steeped in her magic, entwined with other, unfamiliar ones. Spells meant to shield it from prying eyes, from being heard or detected in any way.</p><p><em>Good. </em>That meant it had worked; he was where he needed to be to ascertain her plans, to learn more about her numbers.</p><p>Merlin walked through the camp slowly, just in case someone sensed him. Most of the tents were dark. The warlock poked his head inside one (quite literally—his head went <em>through </em>the skin wall), and found a sleeping man, comfortably layered in furs. He backed out, glancing around at the other tents.</p><p>As he did, he heard one of the sentries give a call. He froze, irrationally terrified at first that he had somehow been spotted. But then he realized they were pointing to an approaching figure in the distance—a person on horseback, toward the camp.</p><p>"Alert the Lady Morgana," one of the sentries said. "Lord Agravaine approaches."</p><p>Merlin went absolutely cold at the words. <em>No. </em>He had suspected the man of wanting the throne, perhaps influencing Arthur for his own benefit—but <em>Morgana? </em>The man was siding with Uther's daughter instead of Ygraine's son? How did that make sense? At least he knew now why he'd felt such a vile sliminess from the man.</p><p>The warlock watched the figure—which soon grew clearer, transforming into Arthur's uncle. Agravaine reigned in his horse and came to a halt, dismounting. The sentries bowed to him, one taking the reigns from his hands.</p><p>"We have told the Lady Morgana of your presence," one said. "She is ready for you—this way, my Lord."</p><p>Agravaine said nothing, just nodded briskly and followed the sentry. Merlin trailed after, anxiety mounting. What if Morgana was somehow able to sense him, even in this state? Kilgharrah had said she wouldn't be able to, not if he didn't use magic, but what if he was wrong? The dragon wasn't often incorrect, but if he was now…</p><p>There was no time to over-think it. Merlin followed the traitor, crushing the irrational urge to get out of sight.</p><p>The sentry showed Agravaine into a large tent. Inside, hunched over a table, was Morgana. She looked far less poised than when Merlin had last seen her, though no less beautiful. Her hair was smooth and brushed, but greasy, as though she hadn't washed. Her dress was elegant but torn near the bottom and splattered at the hem, as though it too hadn't been washed.</p><p>"My lady," Agravaine said, and the way he spoke the words, oily and dripping in adoration, made Merlin's skin crawl. The lord bowed. "I am pleased to see you well."</p><p>"Dispense with the flattery, Agravaine," Morgana said. Her eyes were steely as she gazed at him. "Have you news?"</p><p>"An update—Arthur still readies defenses. He refused to ride out to try to fight you, my Lady, no matter how I attempted to persuade him. He prepares as though Camelot were about to come under siege," Agravaine said. "I have the exact number of men here—as well as the preparations I've managed to glean. He has no suspicions of me, but some council members regard me warily." He withdrew a piece of parchment from his cloak, handing it to her.</p><p>Morgana took it and unfolded it, scanning the figures on the page. She laughed. "My brother's never had any brains. He knows what I bring, but he can't even find proper defenses—my army will tear Camelot to bits." Her tone was delighted and dark, like the caw of a raven when it spied a feast of corpses.</p><p>Agravaine inclined his head respectfully. "Naturally, my Lady."</p><p>Morgana traced a hand over the table, and Merlin saw that a map of Camelot—specifically the citadel—lay on the table. "Tell me—what of the knight who somehow got wind of the Sluagh?"</p><p>"I know not how he truly came by the information. His goes by Sir Lancelot, and he's one of the peasants Arthur knighted. But his story—it doesn't line up. He claims that a mercenary told him, but we both know that's impossible." Agravaine moved to the table. On the corner were a pitcher and a couple of goblets. He poured himself some wine and sipped it.</p><p>"This reeks of a spy," Morgana all but snarled. "Someone in this camp must have betrayed me—but why?" She tapped angrily on the table with one fingernail. "They have all lost someone to Uther's hatred, down to the lowest guard. Their fury toward him and Camelot is real."</p><p>"Perhaps there is someone else playing the game, someone we have yet to spot," Agravaine suggested, again taking a sip of his wine. "Is it possible to have gotten the information through other means—without a traitor?"</p><p>Morgana stopped tapping. "A traitor is the most simple and logical explanation," she said, though she didn't contradict Agravaine's thought process. Merlin felt his heart speed up, and he wondered how—since he didn't technically have a body in this form. Perhaps he expected the bodily reaction to his feelings, and so he felt it. "But if a mage were to sense the barrier weakening, they might be able to gather the rest of the information. <em>If </em>they were powerful enough."</p><p>"But what mage would be powerful enough to do such a thing and give that information to the <em>Pendragons, </em>of all people?" Agravaine asked. He looked down at the map of the citadel, glaring at the castle.</p><p>Morgana stared at him. <em>"Emrys," </em>she hissed. Merlin shuddered at the sound of his other name, said with such vehemence. "But—no. Impossible. Morgause said he was but a myth."</p><p>"Who is he?" Agravaine asked.</p><p>"Morgause…" Morgana trailed off, eyes far away. Merlin wondered where the other witch was, as injured as she was. Or if she had already passed—Morgana seemed distraught enough. "Morgause told me there were prophecies about a warlock, a powerful warlock. The most powerful in the land, destined to aid Arthur and the Pendragons, keep them in power. A dog, she described him as. Or perhaps a wolf, acting like a dog. She said he couldn't be real, that no warlock would ever debase himself like that—some other man's pet, ready to come as called."</p><p>The words were nearly spat, derisive. Merlin felt a tendril of her magic creep off her, making the pitcher of wine rattle. He felt sick—was that how the magical world viewed him? Not the druids, but other magic users? As some kind of—Pendragon weapon? A <em>dog? </em></p><p><em>It doesn't matter, </em>Merlin thought. <em>I'm defending innocent people, and Arthur is good for Camelot, whatever they say. He's kind and just and fair. Even if he doesn't like magic. </em></p><p>"Examining those prophecies might bring greater insight, my Lady," Agravaine said. "Because I can't imagine a traitor within our ranks." <em>Oh, I can, you slimy, miserable little snake. </em>Though perhaps that was insulting to snakes—Merlin was sure most of them were better than this man.</p><p>"Neither can I," Morgana admitted. "Still, all avenues must be exhausted. How long will your absence from Camelot be?"</p><p>"I told them I am taking a brief trip back to my lands," Agravaine said. "It will be a few days before they expect me back."</p><p>Merlin wished he had some sort of proof—other than his magical soul-walking—that Agravaine was a lying prick. Arthur hadn't known his uncle long, but the warlock could tell he was already forming an attachment to the man. The prince wanted family that he could rely on desperately. He wouldn't want to hear that Agravaine was a liar.</p><p>"Then you can help me with the prophecies and potential traitor both," Morgana said. She laid her palm flat against the center of the castle, right where the throne room would be. "How fares Uther?"</p><p>Merlin's form shivered, and he realized that his magic was growing taxed. Normally, it wouldn't have been a problem to maintain the spell for longer, but with how much magic he'd been expending lately, with so little sleep… Gaius might have given him one good night's rest, but that couldn't make up for weeks without.</p><p>Agravaine sneered. "He clings to life, barely. His vitality is gone—as is his mind. All he does is lie in bed." His lips curved into a cruel smirk, a wicked gleam entering his coal-black eyes. "I'm afraid your betrayal broke him, my Lady."</p><p>Morgana's mouth matched his. "Oh, how wonderful that is to hear," she purred. "It is no less than that bastard deserves; I would love to watch the last bit of life leave him." Merlin felt sick at the words: he didn't particularly like Uther, and he knew Morgana hated him, but to wish such a thing on anyone… The warlock had thought about letting Uther die—more than once. But never had he contemplated murdering the man in cold blood.</p><p>"Razing Camelot will be equal in satisfaction, I think," Agravaine said, finishing his goblet of wine. "And he may yet live when you take it."</p><p>"Doubtful." Morgana snorted. "The Sluagh have been given instructions to devour anyone within the citadel. I would prefer to kill some of them myself, but… It's best not to take chances, I've found."</p><p>The warlock thought of what he'd seen nearly a month ago, when Morgana had first begun her wicked spell to tear open the barriers. His mouth went dry, thinking of the same happening to the knights or Gwen or Arthur…</p><p>
  <em>You won't let that happen. </em>
</p><p>Merlin's form wavered again, and when he looked down, his hands were transparent. He frowned. Just how much magic had he been expending lately? Surely not this much. Not enough that he couldn't hold this spell—that he'd done twice before, once when he was dying—for longer.</p><p>"That's wise of you, my Lady." Agravaine dipped his head.</p><p>Merlin focused on his need to <em>stay, </em>to learn more about Morgana's plan. Sweat broke out on his brow. Was it just that he was making an effort, whereas before he'd done it all accidentally? Or had he been exhausted afterward, and the effects of the soul-walk had been masked by his near-death experiences?</p><p>But despite his best efforts, the tent began to fade, Morgana's voice becoming quieter and quieter. The tighter his hold on the image, the more it slipped from his grasp. His soul slammed back into his body, traversing vast kilometers in an instant. Merlin doubled over on the bed, his headache now a roar inside his head, like rocks tumbling down a mountain slope. And the <em>voices. </em>He could hear the Sluagh—much louder than before.</p><p>—<em>A feast, a delicious feast, taste the fleshy, fatty souls, dance about the blood and bone—</em></p><p>—<em>Nearly time, nearly time. Days left, only days. We're coming, coming, coming, coming to kill you all, destroy it all—</em></p><p>—<em>Such wonderful smells, smells so good, the warm hot bodies and slimy innards, all waiting to be torn into, soft soft skin—</em></p><p>Merlin moaned quietly, clutching at his head. He hadn't realized how much his magic had been shielding him from <em>Flæsc's </em>influence until it was too tired to do so. His magic stirred weakly in his breast.</p><p>The warlock's mouth was dry, so he stumbled off the bed to fetch himself a drink, and the cool water in the ladle had never tasted better. As he drank his fill, the voices eased, though the pounding grew no better. He slumped on the ground, rubbing his temple.</p><p><em>Ye gods, even if Morgana does win, I'll be thankful to get rid of this bloody headache. </em>He glanced out the window; it was late, but he felt his stomach growl. Food, then sleep. He wouldn't be able to cast anymore powerful magic tonight.</p><p><em>I'll have to do something about Agravaine, though. </em>The man couldn't be allowed to roam freely. But what to do? Merlin was too busy to keep an eye on the traitor, and he knew Arthur wouldn't believe him—not after Cedric and the troll. The prince never believed him, not unless he had physical proof. And even then, he would never want to think poorly of his uncle.</p><p>Merlin heaved himself to his feet, nearly knocking over the bucket of water in the process. His head felt cloudy, but it was clearer than it had been moments before. He tugged at the door and did his best to be quiet as he staggered into the main physician chambers.</p><p>Although he knew it wouldn't do any good, he downed a pain reliever. He also ate a pear, which Gwen had managed to give him. She truly had gone mad in one short day, obsessed with feeding Merlin. But now the warlock was grateful; the spell would've been all the worse—especially after the magic he'd already exerted—if she hadn't given him so much food.</p><p>After finishing his food, Merlin walked back to his chambers and collapsed into bed. He was too tired to change into his nightclothes, so he simply closed his eyes.</p><p>He was asleep in seconds.</p><hr/><p>The next morning, Merlin was on his way to the knights' quarters when he ran into the man he wanted to see.</p><p>Lancelot looked slightly worse for wear: there were bags under his eyes, and his shoulders sagged. Likely he'd been busy training new soldiers and running drills, preparing for Morgana. At least Merlin could be assured that the man would be better protected than most.</p><p>He tried not to feel guilty about the rest of the knights, who he couldn't protect as effectively.</p><p>"Merlin!" Lancelot said, smiling. "What are you doing in this part of the castle?" Despite his appearance, his gear looked to be in good condition—his chainmail was polished, his sword sharp. Lancelot could never be accused of looking shoddy, which couldn't be said for some of the other knights.</p><p>"Looking for you," Merlin said, glancing around. No one was around, but he didn't feel comfortable talking openly in the hallway, when anyone could come up on them without warning. "I, er—" He paused. The knight was already so busy; could Merlin ask this of him?</p><p>
  <em>No. He said he wanted to help. </em>
</p><p>The warlock swallowed down his instinct to lie, and spoke honestly. "I need your help. Could we speak in your chambers?"</p><p>Lancelot immediately understood, gods bless him. He nodded, the smile fading from his face. "Of course, my friend." He walked down the hallway, back to his room, where Merlin followed.</p><p>"What is it?" Lancelot asked, turning to face Merlin. He kept his voice hushed, despite his urgent tone. "Has Morgana accelerated her plans? Has she—"</p><p>"It's Agravaine," Merlin interrupted. "He's in league with Morgana."</p><p>"Prince Arthur's uncle?" Lancelot said, his nose wrinkling. "Why on earth would he side with her over his own flesh and blood?"</p><p>Merlin shrugged, leaning against the wall. He crossed his arms over his chest. His headache was gentler today, as were the whispers. He could only hear them if he concentrated, murmuring foul things. "Hell if I know. Power? Riches? He likes her? Who knows—and there's no point in speculating."</p><p>"How do <em>you</em> know?" Lancelot said. He raised his hands as Merlin's eyebrow twitched in irritation—it was one thing from Arthur, but Lancelot? "I don't doubt you; I just want to know."</p><p>"He's gone on a trip for a few days—says he's visiting his lands. But I spied on Morgana's camp through… magical means, and he went straight to her. Told her about our soldiers, our defenses. Called her 'my Lady.'" It still made him feel sick, knowing someone so close to Morgana was staying in the heart of Camelot.</p><p>Lancelot's expression mirrored his emotion. "But she doesn't know about everything <em>you're </em>doing, does she? We still have the advantage."</p><p>Merlin thought uncomfortably of Morgana's knowledge of Emrys. She might anticipate some kind of interference, if she suspected him—or his alias, rather—as opposed to a traitor. <em>But she won't know the specifics. </em>And unless Agravaine happened upon his shield, or one of the other defenses he'd set up… She would have no idea.</p><p>"Yes," Merlin said, not quite meeting Lancelot's eyes.</p><p>"Is something else the matter?" the knight asked. Merlin knew he should tell him, tell about how strangely Gwen and Arthur had been acting, tell him about Morgana and Agravaine's conversation of Emrys. Tell him about how exhausted he'd been, how much magic he was expending, just keeping the Sluagh's voices out of his head. Tell him about the missing diary.</p><p>But he settled on lying—as he always did. Because he <em>was </em>a liar, even among those who knew the truth. At this point, Merlin wasn't sure if he could learn to be anything else. "No," he said, trying to be convincing. "I just—will you be able to keep an eye on Agravaine, when he comes back? I know you're busy with preparations, and training, and worrying about the Sluagh—"</p><p>"It's fine, Merlin," Lancelot interjected calmly. He put a hand on Merlin's shoulder—it was large and warm. "Don't worry. I can keep an eye on him. I know you're likely far busier than I. You're certain there's nothing else weighing on your mind?"</p><p>He was giving Merlin an out, a way to express himself, unload his feelings. But the warlock knew that to burden Lancelot with his worries would be unfair, no matter what the knight said. These weren't things he could help with. He was better off not knowing. Merlin himself couldn't even help with half his problems, not with more immediate ones.</p><p>He shook his head. "I'm fine. I promise. She's coming in a few days, you know."</p><p>"I do." Lancelot's dark eyes were serious. "You'll be careful, won't you?"</p><p>"I'm always careful," Merlin said, straightening from the wall. <em>When I can afford to be, </em>he added silently. Now wasn't one of those times, but… Again, Lancelot didn't need to know such things.</p><p>The knight eyed him, unconvinced. "You're far braver than Arthur gives you credit for. I hope you understand how much you deserve, for what you do for Camelot." Merlin felt a faint blush rise to his cheeks. Lancelot patted his shoulder, grinning. "And perhaps once you get credit for your bravery, you'll stop blushing like a maid on her wedding day."</p><p>The warlock ducked out of the knight's hand. "I do <em>not </em>blush like a maid," he denied, his cheeks reddening further. Lancelot kept grinning, and Merlin knew he'd lost. He just wasn't used to such compliments. Whenever he and Gaius spoke of his magic, it was always Gaius admonishing him or chastising him for his use of it. His mentor praised him only after he had saved Camelot. Before, it was always warnings. As though Merlin hadn't seen the executions with him.</p><p>He knew it was only because the old man cared, because he was worried. But it felt nice to be thanked preemptively. Lancelot's words left a warm, mushy feeling in his gut. Like he'd eaten a warm bowl of stew.</p><p>"You do," Lancelot said. "But we can still be friends."</p><p>Merlin rolled his eyes, but he was smiling. "Well then, you'd best be careful yourself, <em>friend." </em></p><p>"I will," Lancelot promised solemnly.</p><hr/><p>Arthur couldn't help but watch Merlin. Knowing all that he'd done for Camelot… He couldn't help it. The man was <em>fascinating. </em>So innocuous, so… plain, if one didn't know him. Only a servant (until he opened his fat mouth, at least).</p><p>No one—least of all Arthur—could have ever suspected him of being a sorcerer. And a powerful one, too. Or powerful enough to defeat many of the others that had attacked Camelot, not even mentioning the magical creatures… And here he was, laying out Arthur's food like a proper servant. Well, he was doing it perhaps a little sloppily, and the prince watched as he stole a sausage, not even trying to be sneaky about it.</p><p>"I saw that," he said, glancing up.</p><p>"Well, with the way you can't keep your eyes off me lately—" Merlin began, but he was interrupted by a knock at the door. For a brief moment, Arthur could've sworn he saw an excited look cross the man's face, but it was gone a moment later.</p><p>"Enter," Arthur called. In came a guard, who bowed promptly to the prince. He was dressed smartly.</p><p>"A message, my lord," the guard said. "If it should please you to hear it."</p><p>"Go ahead." Arthur made a <em>go on </em>gesture.</p><p>"A courtier arrived not five minutes ago, bearing a gift from Lord Bodrick of Rockfallow," the guard said. Out of the corner of Arthur's eye, he saw Merlin perk up. He swore the man looked more like an excited puppy by the second.</p><p>Arthur had met Lord Bodrick only once, as a young boy. The noble had seemed like a doddery old man then—he was probably ancient now. Why on earth had he sent Arthur a present? What could it possibly be?</p><p>"A gift?" he repeated, and the guard nodded.</p><p>"Yes, sire. A sword, it looked like. The courtier waits outside the throne room, at your leisure," the guard explained. "He also comes with a letter from Lord Bodrick, explaining the gift's circumstance." The prince wasn't sure how much circumstance could surround a gift, aside from, <em>Here, it's a present for you.</em></p><p>Arthur had received many presents in his lifetime, usually from nobles attempting to curry favor with him. But rarely had he received one from so far away—Bodrick was lord over land on the western border of Camelot. He often sent his son to Camelot to speak for him, and he was never late on taxes.</p><p>"Very well," the prince said. "Tell the courtier he is to wait an hour or so. Make sure he is well fed and well watered—it is a long journey."</p><p>"Of course, my lord," the guard said. He bowed again, knowing when he was dismissed, and exited the room, closing the door respectfully on his way out.</p><p>There was a beat of silence, Merlin still setting the table, before he broke it. "Must be some special sword, for him to send it all this way." Arthur tried to look at him closely without the servant realizing—though he recognized that the servant had definitely been bothered by his strange behavior.</p><p>"Yes," the prince agreed, his brows furrowed. Merlin's comment was cryptic at best, meaningless at worst. Was it innocuous, or was Merlin involved with this gift somehow? "It must be."</p><p>He and Merlin switched places; Arthur sat at the table to eat, and Merlin went to his desk to organize the papers and read over some of the things Arthur had written. Not because Arthur ever made mistakes (he was the prince regent), but sometimes… His eloquence was <em>too </em>sophisticated for even the likes of court (it definitely wasn't that Merlin was sometimes better at choosing words than him. Because he <em>wasn't, </em>to be very clear).</p><p>They passed perhaps forty minutes in silence before Arthur was finished. Then, Merlin helped him finish dressing: his crown (the thin, practical one that didn't make his neck ache), cloak, and sword strapped to his belt. He let the servant straighten out the cloak and pat him down for dust, trying not to think about how the man was a powerful sorcerer. It just seemed <em>wrong, </em>to have the man who had saved Camelot and the royal family so many times serving him.</p><p>"Something the matter?" Merlin asked as he finished his odd ministrations.</p><p>Arthur shook his head, and the servant stepped back. "Of course not." <em>My sister is marching on Camelot in mere days, you're a secret sorcerer, my father lies infirm, and now some lord I've met only once has sent me a </em>sword, <em>of all things. </em>He said none of those things, though he could see a gentle understanding in Merlin's eyes.</p><p>But the sorcerer said nothing, just patted his forearm. Arthur swept out of the room, Merlin trailing a few steps behind—though not because he actually respected the prince, of course. The guards bowed to him as he entered the throne room. They waited for him to look properly princely before they sent the courtier in.</p><p>He was a plain-looking man, of average build, fair skin, and dark hair. His clothing was tattered.</p><p>The courtier seemed horribly nervous, sweating painfully and looking everywhere but at Arthur. But he managed to bow deeply to the prince without impaling himself on the sword, which he carried length-wise in both hands. It was wrapped in heavy leather—not a sheath, as Arthur would have expected.</p><p>"Good morning, my prince," the courtier said, straightening. "I come bearing I gift—this sword—and a message. From Lord Bodrick."</p><p>Arthur itched to rise and take it, but a prince was never supposed to bring himself down to the commoners' level (or so his father said). But then he imagined Gwen or Merlin standing before a prince in a foreign court, and he stood.</p><p>"Thank you for delivering it," Arthur said. "I will see to it that you get a warm bed for the night. Or perhaps the next few nights. I doubt the roads are safe, and the witch moves."</p><p>"Th—thank you, my lord," the man said, clearly taken aback. The prince frowned. Surely his people didn't think he was some sort of slave driver? He knew when to reward hard-working citizens.</p><p>(<em>Or attempt to murder them when their back is turned, </em>a dark voice whispered. Arthur ignored it.)</p><p>"Of course. Now, I will see the note."</p><p>"Er, yes, sire," the courtier said. He didn't seem to know what to do with the sword in his hands. Merlin stepped forward.</p><p>"Allow me," he said, gently taking the sword from the courtier's hands. The man gave him a relieved smile and dug into his battered satchel. He withdrew an envelope and handed it to Arthur.</p><p>It looked real enough: it was sealed with wax and pressed with Bodrick's coat of arms—a bear's rearing form. The prince broke it easily and pulled out the parchment. Unfolding it, he scanned the artfully-penned words:</p><p>
  <em>To Crown Prince Arthur Pendragon, Current Regent of Camelot,</em>
</p><p>
  <em>I am saddened to hear the news of your Regency—though of course I know you to be a great Crown Prince, and I am certain you will make an equal Regent to the Citizens of Camelot. That news, indeed, is not the cause of my grievance; no, I am saddened for King Uther, who has been an excellent Ruler over the Great Kingdom of Camelot for twenty years now. I pray for his swift recovery. </em>
</p><p><em>However, I thought such an important event should not go unmarked by your vassals. Although I acknowledge that this is not a celebratory time, I ask that you accept the gift I have included nonetheless. I regret that I could not see you in person, my Prince</em>, <em>but I fear I would not be able to withstand such a harsh trip at my present age.</em></p><p>
  <em>The sword I gift you is not an ordinary piece of steel from my personal collection. Rather, my best blacksmith forged this sword, many years ago. I myself dared not touch it for its majesty; I have known from the very beginning that it was made for Royalty. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>With the pressing news of your Regency—and Morgana to the border—I could not in good conscious keep it for myself. God has made it clear that He wishes for you to have it, and I am but His humble servant. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>And so I have shipped it to you, my Lord, with the hope that it will serve you well. Please accept my apologies that I could not be there in person. I wish you and his Highness nothing but the best of health. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>Your Loyal Vassal,</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Lord Bodrick, Baron of Rockfallow</em>
</p><p>And it certainly sounded like some stuck up elderly lord. Really. What was he meant to do with a new <em>sword? </em>He had dozens of swords; this one would serve him no better in the fight against Morgana.</p><p>"I will see the sword, now," Arthur said, tucking the parchment back into its envelope. He stuffed it into his belt (perhaps not the most princely thing he could've done with it). Merlin presented it to him without fanfare, but Arthur noticed an oddly excited gleam in his eye.</p><p>
  <em>I swear, it's just a bloody sword…</em>
</p><p>But as the prince unwrapped it, he realized that this certainly was <em>not </em>an ordinary blade: it was a thing of beauty. The hilt was simple but elegant in design—not gaudy like some of the other swords lords had gifted him over the years, but far from plain. Odd symbols decorated the sides of the blade, but they somehow fit it perfectly. It seemed to buzz as he held it, giving off a feeling of surety, of rightness.</p><p>This was <em>his </em>sword.</p><p>Enraptured, Arthur gave it an experimental swing; the grip was perfect for his hand, and it whistled through the air with exquisite balance. So caught up was he in its beauty, he almost missed the look of strange pride in Merlin's eyes.</p><p>Could this be the sword he had described in his journal? The one that had been forged in the dragon's breath, made for him? The one his father had wielded against the wraith?</p><p>What had Merlin called it…</p><p>The name came to his lips as swiftly a bird alighting on a branch: <em>"Excalibur." </em>He breathed it, a quiet whisper. This was Merlin's work… but how? How had he arranged this farce, a ploy to get him this magical sword?</p><p>
  <em>That doesn't matter right now. Something more to figure out later. </em>
</p><p>He turned to the courtier, narrowing his eyes. What was <em>his </em>part in all this?</p><p>"Tell me," Arthur began, "what is your name, messenger?"</p><p>The courtier swallowed. "Gilli, sire." Arthur didn't sense a lie, but with how poorly he seemed to be at spotting them, that didn't mean a lot.</p><p>"As soon as the roads are safe—and Morgana's threat has passed—I will send you back to Lord Bodrick with my thanks," Arthur said. "Until then, you will have a room in the guard's barracks. You—" He gestured to one of the men against the far wall. "Show Gilli here to a bed."</p><p>The guard bowed. "Of course, my lord."</p><p>The two left the throne room as Arthur went back to admiring the sword. It almost seemed to sing in his hand, a beautifully tragic thing for something meant to slaughter and destroy.</p><p>Merlin stepped back into the shadow of Arthur's throne, returning his silent, constant place at Arthur's side.</p><p><em>Thank you, </em>the prince told him silently. <em>I will repay you, for all you have done. Soon.</em></p><p>
  <em>Soon.</em>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Thank you all so much for the response! Happy 2021--I hope you all have stayed safe during the holidays. I really appreciate the kudos, bookmarks, and comments (though I'm sorry I haven't responded to the ones for chapter 8! I promise I will soon; I just got busy). Please enjoy this extra long chapter. Questions: What did you think of the last entries? Even if you disagree with Arthur and Gwen's decision not to tell Merlin, can you understand why? Have you gotten tired of them saying hello and good night to each other? Was Gwen involving herself in Merlin's eating habits amusing or irritating?</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0010"><h2>10. Chapter 10</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <strong>Chapter Ten: The Attack</strong>
</p><p>Eventually, Merlin had to sleep. He couldn't stand it. It was driving him mad, the whispers, the pounding. He couldn't relax with the noise; every time he closed his eyes, he felt the horrible sensation of something clinging to his soul, saw how the Sluagh had torn up the old man right in front of his eyes. He smelled the rot of <em>Flæsc, </em>heard the wet <em>shuck </em>of his footsteps on the mushy, bloody ground.</p><p>And it was coming here.</p><p>He had been too nauseous to eat, too nervous to sleep. Though this time, Arthur had barely commented on it (he just continued to watch the servant like some kind of bad spy. At least Gwen had stopped trying to force-feed him every chance she got). He dropped plates and pitchers, knocked over goblets, jumped badly at noises, and had nearly gutted himself giving Arthur Excalibur.</p><p>Normally, the prince would've been furious with so many mistakes, but he'd only looked at Merlin with a horribly inscrutable face, giving nothing away. The servant hated it; he almost wanted Arthur to yell and throw him in the stocks again. That would've been <em>normal, </em>which might've been a comfort at this point. Anything but the silent staring—that, too, was driving him mad. More so because the prince absolutely refused to tell him <em>why, </em>no matter how hard he pressed.</p><p>But he couldn't sleep. So he paced during the night, after double or triple checking his preparations. His stomach growled, warring with the ill feeling in his gut. He suspected Gaius wanted to force-feed him like Gwen had, but instead his mentor settled on watching him disapprovingly as Merlin fiddled with his food in the mornings and evenings.</p><p>This night, the voices were deafening. The warlock knew this was it; this would be the night Morgana broke the barrier—he could <em>feel </em>it. It had been a month, the tear growing in length and breadth until there was nothing but a shredded veil between the worlds, a curtain thinner than the finest silk. This would be the night his defenses would be tested, the night his friends might die. The night Arthur would have to battle his half-sister, mere weeks after he had just wrenched Camelot back from her.</p><p>He'd told Gaius at dinner so the man could prepare. His mentor had instructed him to get some sleep, and Merlin had promised he would try. And he had: he'd lain in bed for at least an hour, failing to stop the voices and the pain in his head.</p><p>—<em>ALMOST HERE, THE TASTY SUMPTUOUS HOT FLESH—</em></p><p>—<em>OPEN THE BARRIER FOR THE FEAST! I'LL CONSUME THEM ALL, ONE BY ONE—</em></p><p>—<em>I'LL LICK THEIR INSIDES CLEAN, SUCK THE MARROW FROM THEIR BONES, SLURP UP THEIR WARM STICKY SOULS, FILL MY BELLY UNTIL I BURST AND THEN I'LL FILL IT AGAIN—</em></p><p>—<em>PATIENCE, THE WITCH WORKS. TONIGHT IS THE NIGHT, MY SWEETS—</em></p><p>Merlin threw off the blanket. He would never be able to sleep like this; he didn't care. Those things were <em>coming. </em>They were coming to Camelot, to his home, to devour the people he loved. He had to be awake when they arrived.</p><p><em>They'll approach from the West, like the book said, </em>he thought. <em>They'll appear as a hoard of ravens or bats, most likely. </em>West, unfortunately, was the front of the castle; Morgana had chosen her army with care. The warlock lit the candles on his bedside table with a flash of his eyes.</p><p>He'd gone to bed fully clothed so that he'd be ready, and he didn't regret the decision, though it had made it more uncomfortable to sleep. Really, though, most of his discomfort came from the voices and the headache, the lingering feeling of spite he'd felt. Merlin knew it would only grow stronger when the Sluagh attacked, and fear swept through him.</p><p>What if he froze, as he'd done in <em>Flæsc? </em>What if the voices kept him from focusing properly, as they'd been doing all day? Distraction in battle was a death sentence.</p><p>Merlin sat on the floor anyway, resting his head on his knees. The giggling laughter spun around in his head, bouncing off the sides of his skull. He couldn't fight like this—his shield, the storage… They would have to do. He wouldn't be of any help in this state. Gaius had been right; he was too exhausted to be of any use.</p><p>As he sat there—trying not to listen or think or feel the pain in his head—something wiggled in the back of his mind.</p><p>—<em>lin… Merlin, can you—</em></p><p>He recognized the voice immediately: Kilgharrah. It had been a while since the dragon had contacted him this way, and it was difficult to hear him over the Sluagh's laughter and hunger. Merlin squeezed his eyes shut, concentrating. He felt for the bond he and Kilgharrah shared, and upon locating it, held firmly. It was difficult to grasp among the cacophony, but the warlock managed.</p><p>The dragon's voice crystalized in his mind, louder than the other, suddenly quieter voices of the Sluagh.</p><p>
  <em>Can you hear me, young warlock? </em>
</p><p><em>Yes, </em>Merlin replied. <em>What is it? </em>Did Kilgharrah have <em>more </em>bad news? If he did… the warlock doubted there was anything he could do but wait.</p><p><em>Tonight is the night, </em>Kilgharrah said. <em>The barrier is almost torn—I estimate only a few hours more. The witch has other sorcerers on her side. Mercenaries, too. </em></p><p><em>I know, </em>Merlin said hopelessly. Would the shield hold them all? He didn't know. His smaller-scale runic configurations had been strong, but he hadn't thrown anything as dark and powerful as the Sluagh at them. And he'd been forced to do it so quickly… What if he'd missed something? What if the shield had some kind of obvious flaw? What if his other enchantment didn't work? <em>Could you… Would you be able to slow them down? </em></p><p><em>It would be my pleasure. </em>Merlin could picture Kilgharrah bearing his teeth in animalistic bloodlust, eyes and throat aglow with fire. Dragons were smart, and they could be kind—but they weren't human. They didn't feel like humans did, for all their sentience and emotion. The warlock felt a hot, alien glee leak from their bond. <em>The witch has gone too far, summoning such things. She plays with realms and rules she has no business meddling in. </em></p><p>Merlin rubbed his eyes, which burned and stung from his lack of sleep. If he were to look in a mirror, he knew they would be bloodshot. <em>Thank you, Kilgharrah, </em>he said. <em>I appreciate it. </em></p><p><em>I can feel your tiredness, </em>the dragon responded, as though that reply—as opposed to <em>you're welcome </em>or <em>think nothing of it</em>—were perfectly on topic. His tone was almost accusatory. <em>A wise warrior sleeps before battle. You have enough time yet. Your exhaustion will cloud your judgment and make you sloppy.</em></p><p>Indignation made Merlin sit up straighter, though Kilgharrah wasn't there to see it. <em>It's not my fault all I can hear is the fucking things wanting to eat people, </em>he said hotly. <em>They've been in my head for days—I can't stop sensing them. </em></p><p><em>You can, </em>Kilgharrah said. <em>If you'd stop whining and think about it, anyway. </em></p><p>The warlock crossed his arms over his chest and scowled at his wall. <em>I just told you—I </em>can't <em>think right now. I haven't been able to think properly for days. </em>And wasn't that the truth. The past month had been like one big daze, Merlin feeling as though he were trapped in a giant, invisible cobweb. His movements slow, constantly feeling stuck, a million different threads tugging on him in every direction, as a malevolent, creeping spider crawled toward him.</p><p><em>I suppose your sensitivity cannot be helped, </em>Kilgharrah admitted grudgingly, which was as close as he'd get to apologizing. <em>So I will tell you: getting the Sluagh's voices from your head requires a similar magic to the kind used to purge them from your soul. They are corrupt beings, and fire—even mental fire—burns them. </em></p><p><em>If I use the spell you used to get rid of them from my soul, I won't be able to hear them anymore? </em>Merlin confirmed.</p><p><em>Yes, young warlock. Then, you will go to sleep. </em>It was more of a command than anything else, but Merlin supposed he was showing his concern the only way he knew how. He was sort of like Arthur in that respect, not that the dragon would appreciate the comparison.</p><p>
  <em>I'll try. How much time will you buy us, slowing them down? </em>
</p><p>
  <em>It's difficult to say. The Sluagh are formidable enemies in such great numbers, even for me and my flame. I will not have the advantage of flight over them. And the witch has a retinue of skilled, powerful mages. I anticipate I will add only an hour or two to their journey, if I am to be careful. </em>
</p><p><em>About dawn, then? </em>Merlin asked. He wished there were something he could do to help Kilgharrah, but he would trust that the dragon knew what he was doing. He had lived for hundreds of years; he knew how to fight, and to avoid being injured. But if he were to get hurt, on Merlin's orders…</p><p><em>Yes. Prepare for the army at dawn, </em>Kilgharrah said, and he cut himself off. The ravenous voices of the Sluagh began again at once, calling for things Merlin didn't want to hear or think about.</p><p>Merlin removed his shoes (he left the rest of his clothing on, though) and climbed into bed. He snuffed out the candles, lying onto his back. He had to focus to do this. <em>It will be like falling into a trance—the way you did when you sent your soul to spy on Morgana. </em>That thought inevitably led to thoughts of Agravaine, which again spun Merlin into worrying.</p><p><em>Focus, </em>he told himself. His room was cold, so he tugged his blanket over himself. He struggled to recall exactly how Kilgharrah's purging spell had felt. It had swept through him, almost like a fever, too hot to process, a way of burning out infection. <em>Their voices are only a sickness, </em>he thought. A sickness he could overcome, if he tried.</p><p>Merlin called to his magic. It came easily, as it always did—though easier now that he was using it so often. He exhaled as it spread underneath his skin, his limbs tingling. <em>Burn, </em>he thought. <em>Burn the voices out. </em>It was a vicious thing to think, after so long of fearing the flames. Merlin tried to emulate how Kilgharrah's magic had felt as it had lashed out at the Sluagh that had clung to his soul.</p><p>He could feel when it began to work. His insides seemed to boil, too warm to register properly. Magic swept through his limbs and torso and shot up from his neck and into his head. He knew it was only illusion, but it was nearly too hot for him to manage. Sweat broke out along his brow.</p><p>Merlin held it for as long as he could stand. He didn't know how much time had passed when he finally ended the spell; he only knew he was exhausted. He waited for the voices to start up again, certain he hadn't managed it. But there was only silence. The warlock almost sobbed in relief.</p><p>Morgana was coming, but at least he would be well-rested when she arrived. Prepared. <em>I can't believe I didn't think of using that spell, </em>he thought. But then, his mind had been muddled from lack of sleep and the constant noise—one only he could hear.</p><p>The Sluagh would be there at dawn. He wasn't sure how the things would be able to stand the sunlight after so long in the dark, but he was certain Morgana had planned for it. Dread began to coil in his stomach as he thought about it, thought about the upcoming battle. Who would die? Merlin knew, deep down, he wouldn't be able to save everyone—it was impossible. He wasn't good enough.</p><p><em>Don't think about it, </em>he ordered himself. Rolling onto his side, he did his best to quiet his thoughts. And a few moments later, he drifted into a deep, dreamless sleep—or if he did dream, he was too tired to recall.</p><p>That was probably for the best.</p><hr/><p>Kilgharrah's voice broke through the veil of sleep before the warning bell did. Merlin sat up in bed, trying to pull his groggy thoughts together. As he tried to stand up, his wad of blanket (which had bunched at the base of his bed while he slept) caught his feet. He tripped, yelping as he crashed to the hard ground.</p><p><em>Merlin! </em>the dragon's voice thundered in his head. <em>They are less than an hour away—you must prepare. </em></p><p><em>I'm up! </em>he called to Kilgharrah. <em>Gods, please stop shouting. </em>He pushed himself up from the floor, kicking the blanket away. Between the dragon's voice and the tolling of the bell—which his mind finally registered—he felt like his head might explode.</p><p><em>You were fast asleep—I had to shout to rouse you, </em>the dragon said. Merlin could feel muffled amusement through their bond; Kilgharrah knew he'd tripped.</p><p><em>I'm sure, </em>the warlock grumbled, but he sobered as the full reality of the situation sunk in. This was it—this was the moment he'd been dreading for an entire month. This was what had eaten up so much of his time. <em>How many are there? </em></p><p><em>More sorcerers have joined the witch's ranks—they felt the power of her complete Working and enjoyed its foul taste, </em>Kilgharrah said. <em>They've grown to two or three dozen. The Sluagh are numerous: seven hundred now, by my estimate. I slew perhaps a hundred. The mercenaries are greatly reduced; only fifty remain. I burned the rest. </em></p><p>The dragon did sound tired—winded. When Merlin concentrated, he could feel a few minor wounds through their bond: a tear in his wing, a slash across his leg, his tail stinging. And aches of the muscles, the kind the warlock had gotten when he first began to work for Arthur—Kilgharrah's body wasn't used to the stress of fighting.</p><p><em>Thank you, </em>Merlin said sincerely as he tugged on his boots. <em>Make sure you rest. I have to put the shield up now—I won't be able to stay in contact. </em></p><p><em>I will recuperate nearby, </em>Kilgharrah said. <em>Call me if you need me, Merlin. </em>The dragon couldn't resist the call, but Merlin got the feeling he would've come regardless of the warlock's status as a dragonlord.</p><p><em>I shall, </em>he promised. <em>Wish me luck with the shield? </em></p><p>He could hear the echo of the dragon's snort in his mind. <em>Luck? You had best be relying on skill—not luck. Fortune has rarely smiled on you.</em></p><p>Well, that was an honest and depressing assessment. <em>Thank you for those words of wisdom. It really helps just before I have to go into battle, </em>Merlin said.</p><p><em>Of course, young warlock, </em>Kilgharrah replied smoothly, and the communication cut off. Blasted dragon, thinking he could have the last word. The warlock flew out the door and through the physician's chambers, barely stopping to say hello to Gaius—his mentor knew the plan, knew what he was going to do.</p><p>The entire castle was in a frenzy. Servants and guards and knights and nobles rushed toward their chambers or stations or to find somewhere to help. Merlin let himself blend in with the crowd, keeping his head down. Everyone would expect him to be with the prince regent, but Arthur would have to handle himself for a while.</p><p><em>I need to get this done quickly, </em>he thought. He hated the idea of Arthur going out to face the Sluagh without him, even with Excalibur. The Sluagh were wretched things, and he wasn't sure anyone could really be ready for them if they hadn't been in their presence before. The malice would hit the knights and soldiers like a brick wall.</p><p>Which was why he had to get the shield up before the Sluagh arrived.</p><p>The warning bell finally stopped ringing (they must've realized they'd woken all of Albion, not just Camelot). Kilgharrah had said the Sluagh was less than an hour away—that meant dawn had to be close. The scouts should've alerted Camelot sooner, but Merlin supposed they might've been killed—or Morgana might have used magic to avoid detection. As Merlin headed down to the dragon's cavern, he noticed that the sky didn't seem to grow any lighter.</p><p>But he couldn't concern himself with that now; the shield was his first priority. Then Arthur.</p><p>In the chaos, it was easy for him to slip unnoticed down to the cave. The guards were elsewhere, likely seeing to more important affairs. Merlin unlocked the door with a soft spell, heading into the darkness. He summoned his light after shutting the door, stepping quickly down the steps. An hour would be plenty of time to get it up: with all of the magic he'd poured into it, it shouldn't need more than a minute or so to snap into place.</p><p>Once Merlin reached the bottom, he kneeled, placing his hands on the activation rune. He sent a pulse of magic racing through it, and the entire configuration lit up with golden light. The light spread past the runes, sinking into the stone and traveling up the cavern's walls.</p><p><em>Well, that wasn't a side effect I anticipated, </em>Merlin thought, standing. He wondered what everyone would think; would they be able to pinpoint the wave of light's epicenter? He decided he shouldn't wait to find out.</p><p>Brushing the dust from his trousers, he hurried back up the steps, extinguishing his light as he stepped back into the castle's corridors. He didn't bother re-locking the door; he might have to go back in a hurry, and he wouldn't want to waste time with spells.</p><p>There were shouts in the halls, talk of a magical attack. The wave of gold light had <em>definitely </em>been noticed, then. He had to check and make sure the magic was stable, so he began making his way to the courtyard.</p><p>Merlin was so intent he nearly ran into Arthur's back as he rushed outside. The prince regent turned to look at him. A couple of the knights were with him—Leon and Percival—as well as a few guards. Leon was looking around suspiciously, as if he might catch the source of the light walking about. Percival seemed nervous; he fingered his sword hilt.</p><p>By contrast, Arthur seemed the epitome of calm. Merlin would've expected him to be angry and perhaps a little scared, certainly suspicious like Leon. But he didn't seem to be any of those things. He was looking out at the citadel with an odd, almost <em>thoughtful </em>look in his eye.</p><p>"There you are," he said, but he didn't seem angry that Merlin hadn't immediately come to him. In fact, he seemed almost… <em>pleased. </em>"Did you see it?"</p><p>"Er—" Saying no would be a very bad, very obvious lie, though it was Merlin's first instinct. "Ye—<em>es</em>. I did. The light. Very… um, magical." Arthur didn't even make fun of him for his stammering, facing the still-dark sky.</p><p>"I don't think it was Morgana," Arthur said.</p><p>"You don't?" Merlin asked, hoping Arthur wouldn't notice how high his voice had gotten.</p><p>"You <em>don't?" </em>Leon repeated (and it was unfortunate he'd managed to keep his voice deeper). "Who else could it be, sire? It was clearly magic, and Morgana is close to launching her attack."</p><p>"So she sent out a wave of light?" Arthur said, skeptical. "It didn't seem to do anything."</p><p>"That we know of, sire," Percival broke in. "I would be wary. Who knows what sort of tricks Morgana has, besides her army of—"</p><p>And that must have been when the light finally reached the outskirts of the city and grew. Light shot up from the ground on all sides, far enough to encase the entirety of Camelot (Merlin was relieved to know his calculations for the size had been correct). It rose over their heads, meeting high in the sky to form a dome.</p><p>Hours—days—of work, that had been. Merlin was proud of it, even if he couldn't share that accomplishment with anyone.</p><p>"…A shield…" Arthur muttered, staring straight up.</p><p>"Sire, it must be—must be designed to keep us in, stop us from being able to meet her outside Camelot," Leon said, distress leaking into his voice. "How did she even manage such a thing?"</p><p>Merlin wasn't surprised he'd jumped to that conclusion, though he hoped they would find it wasn't so; the shield blocked the Sluagh's magic and nothing more. Something more specific would've taken much longer. The warlock was betting, though, that with the Working Morgana and her lackeys wouldn't be able to enter either. Depending on how entangled their magic was with <em>Flæsc, </em>they might not even be able to send their magic through.</p><p>The mercenaries might be a separate story, but Kilgharrah had reduced their number to almost nothing. Fifty ordinary soldiers was a laughable amount to take a castle that was thousands strong.</p><p>"Let's try, then," Arthur said, breaking through the warlock's thoughts.</p><p>"What do you mean?" Percival asked, eyeing the sky with fear and distrust. They were predictable but disappointing emotions. Merlin couldn't share the joy of his success with anyone but himself.</p><p>"Let's try to get through it," Arthur said, gesturing to the shield.</p><p>"Is that wise, sire?" Leon asked. "We must focus on defending the castle; it will be our last defense against the army. Now that we can't march out to meet her… The Sluagh will be a disaster. They can fly, and we'll be sitting ducks. It will be the dragon all over again."</p><p>Just so. Merlin had taken away that advantage. The awful creatures wouldn't be able to fly through the shield and attack from they sky as the griffon, dragon, gargoyles, and others had done. All had left the knights and soldiers at a distinct disadvantage; their formations had been made to block the likes of men, not talons or fire from above.</p><p>"There may be a way through it," Arthur said. "It would be wise to investigate it before we made assumptions. Get the rest of the knights—we'll go together, in case it is a trap." Here, he eyed Merlin, for some reason. The warlock wanted to break in and say that <em>he </em>wasn't a knight, but he kept his mouth shut. "Tell the guards to be vigilant… And start prepping for a siege. We must check our stores."</p><p>Leon bowed, though he didn't look convinced. "As you say, sire."</p><hr/><p>The shield didn't unduly alarm Arthur. He was sure that was what it was; Merlin wouldn't have appeared so calm otherwise. This had been part of his plan—a magic shield to protect Camelot. If Arthur was right (and he suspected he was), then this was meant to take away the Sluagh's flight. There wouldn't be nearly as many deaths or destruction with it in place. And depending on what could and couldn't go through…</p><p>
  <em>Let's see just what you've done, Merlin. </em>
</p><p>The citizens had been ordered inside their homes at the first sign of Morgana and her army, which they seemed eager to comply with. Arthur and his knights walked quickly through the empty streets. Though the prince couldn't see sign of the sun (odd, that), the dim golden light of the shield was enough to see by.</p><p>He almost couldn't comprehend the magnitude of the thing; just how powerful <em>was </em>Merlin? How long had this taken him? Less than a month, and that in itself was impressive.</p><p>A small part of Arthur couldn't believe he could think anything of magic was impressive, but there really was no other word for it. And that part of the prince was wrong to think ill of the man who had risked his life a thousand times over for Camelot.</p><p>
  <em>What else could Merlin do, if given more time? </em>
</p><p>"I don't like this, sire," Elyan said, looking up at the shield. "It's eerie." The other knights—with the exception of Lancelot, Arthur noted—nodded their heads. Merlin, of course with them, gave an obligatory head nod. Truth be told, Arthur thought it was kind of beautiful—it reminded him of the rune in the cave. He wondered if he was the only one who could feel the warmth from it, almost a net of invisible reassurance.</p><p>The prince grunted—something that would likely be taken as agreement. As they finished walking to the gate, the guards saluted.</p><p>"Wasn't nothing we could do, Highness," one said, stepping forward. "The light came and just—did that." He pointed helplessly at the shield.</p><p>"Have you tried touching it?" Arthur asked.</p><p>The guard shook his head rapidly. "No, sire. It's magic—from the witch. She's trying to starve us out, mark my words."</p><p>"Hm," Arthur said. He walked up to the edge of the shield, which was just outside the gate. Leon made a noise of protest at how close he was.</p><p>"You sure you want to do that, princess?" Gwaine asked.</p><p>Arthur glanced back. "You're right." He would have to make a show of it, then—at least for now. He wouldn't out Merlin until he was certain he could control the outcome: the last thing he needed was to be worried about the man's safety. He wouldn't put it past his knights—though perhaps not <em>these </em>particular knights—to run him through.</p><p><em>Just like you almost did, </em>his mind pointed out helpfully.</p><p><em>But I didn't, </em>he argued back. <em>I'm going to protect him, now. And I can't protect him if my people think he's the enemy. </em></p><p>So he would stay quiet and act ignorant. For now.</p><p>Arthur removed one of his gauntlets and tossed it. It passed through the shield without issue. <em>But what about me? </em>He was reaching out his bare hand when Percival put a hand on his shoulder.</p><p>"Maybe one of us should test it, sire," he said. "Just in case."</p><p>"Very well," Arthur agreed, stepping back. He was certain it wouldn't hurt them, and it was likely they would pass as easily through it as the gauntlet had.</p><p>Percival pressed his lips together. It was odd to see such nervousness from the usually impassive man.</p><p>"Try just a finger," Gwaine suggested. "That way, if it does something bad…"</p><p>"Maybe someone else should try it," Elyan said. "Percival's one of our best fighters…"</p><p>"I could," Leon said.</p><p>"You're captain of the knights," Percival pointed out. "We can't lose you either."</p><p>"The same could be said of any of you," Arthur said, playing his part. "You're all valuable."</p><p>"Let me," Lancelot said, stepping forward. "I agree with the prince; I don't think it's of Morgana."</p><p><em>You would know, wouldn't you? </em>But the tone wasn't bitter; Arthur was sort of glad Merlin had had someone to help him, someone who wasn't Gaius. It made situations like these go much smoother.</p><p>Merlin must have thought the same, because he finally spoke.</p><p>"I'll be on standby," he said, "if anything bad happens." Lancelot seemed to take that as a confirmation that nothing bad <em>would </em>happen, which Arthur had already known. Did Lancelot know this was Merlin's shield?</p><p>The knights waited with baited breath as Lancelot approached the glowing wall of light. He hesitated just long enough to be believable before thrusting his hand through. It passed easily, and the knight held it there.</p><p>"Does it hurt?" Elyan asked, walking forward.</p><p>"No," Lancelot replied. "Just… tingly. Like it's fallen asleep." He wiggled his fingers experimentally before stepping through entirely. He appeared unharmed on the other side. "Perfectly safe," he said.</p><p>"I want to try!" Gwaine said, striding through. "Whoa. It <em>is </em>tingly."</p><p>"Morgana's spell seems to have backfired, somehow, sire," Leon said. He poked his sword at the barrier, and it, too, passed through with ease. "I can't think of any other reason we can go through it."</p><p>"Unless it wasn't Morgana who cast it," Arthur said. He felt it was a logical conclusion to reach, given their information. "She's not one for traps as obvious as this, and how would she have cast the spell, anyway? She's yet kilometers away."</p><p>"I think you're right, sire," Elyan said. "This… It isn't her style." He leaned forward, studying the shield.</p><p>"But if Morgana didn't cast it… Who did?" Percival asked—the question on the minds of nearly everyone. "And why?" Everyone save Lancelot, Merlin, and Arthur, who all knew precisely how and who and why the shield had been raised.</p><p>For the first time, the prince regent didn't feel despair at the thought of confronting Morgana's army.</p><p><em>Thank you, Merlin. </em>And at some point—preferably soon—he would say the words aloud.</p><hr/><p>"There's something wrong with the sky," Merlin observed. Arthur glanced over from his place on the battlements; with this new development, his tactics for the fight had changed. It wouldn't be a matter of armies; this would be a matter of trying to starve each other out, a stalemate of sorts.</p><p>He couldn't see evidence of her yet, though his scouts reported she was close. She would have to be using the main road—the forest was too dense to lead any kind of force through.</p><p>"What do you mean?" he asked. Normally he might have ribbed the other man, but he was inclined to give Merlin's comments more weight than previously. It was like discovering what he thought was fool's gold had been real and true all along.</p><p><em>(Except you never </em>really <em>thought Merlin was a fool, did you? You just ignored him because it was convenient.) </em></p><p>"Dawn should have come," the sorcerer said, leaning over the side. Arthur resisted the urge to pull him back; Merlin wasn't known for his sure feet. Just the opposite. "It's too dark."</p><p>He was right, Arthur realized. "Is it Morgana?" he wondered. Some of the others seemed to have noticed something was wrong; the soldiers on the walls were muttering and pointing.</p><p>He'd already given the announcement that the shield wasn't harmful. He wasn't sure they had believed him, but they seemed to have given him the benefit of the doubt.</p><p>"Maybe," Merlin said. "<em>Flæsc, </em>where the Sluagh live, is reportedly very dim. Usually the Sluagh can only stand this realm in the darkness—they only ever come out at night and spend days in caves or holes."</p><p>"So Morgana… darkened the sky?" Arthur said. The thought was terrifying; the idea of her capable of meddling with the very weather, with the earth and sky and water and air… What all was she able to do? "How?"</p><p>"I don't know." Merlin sighed. "It must be a powerful spell, so she probably—"</p><p>He was interrupted as a guard came running toward them. "Sire!" he said, panting. "The stores of grain—you need to come see."</p><p>Alarm shot through the prince regent. Now that he knew he and his people would be trapped in the citadel, with no way out, no way to get supplies in… The stores had tripled in importance. If something had happened to them… "What is it?" he demanded.</p><p>"I don't—I don't know how to explain it, sire," the guard said, but he didn't seem upset. He seemed <em>excited. </em>"Please, you need to come see."</p><p>Arthur swept past startled soldiers on the battlements as he descended to follow the guard, his mind racing. Merlin trailed behind without prompting, giving one last look at the sky before they entered the castle.</p><p>The two followed the guard through the hallways toward the cellar. They found the storeroom open, a befuddled-looking steward standing next to it. When he saw Arthur, he bowed.</p><p>"Greetings, Highness," he said. "I don't know what to make of it." Arthur pushed his was past him to see… "It all just… multiplied."</p><p>The room was filled to the brim with grain. Good grain, too—unspoiled. The prince, again, almost couldn't comprehend it. Just how many things had Merlin planned for? He'd known that with the shield, they would've needed food… And so he'd supplied it.</p><p>Arthur inhaled and closed the door. "Tell no one," he ordered the steward. "Store it properly and record it—I want to know just how much we have."</p><p>"But, sire… We're using it?" the steward asked. The prince nodded, noting in his peripheral vision the look of surprise on Merlin's face.</p><p>"We are. You may use servants to help you store it, but don't tell them where it came from," he said.</p><p>"It came from nowhere!" the steward exclaimed. At Arthur's look, he coughed. "Apologies, sire. It will be done—not a word. But, if I may ask… What does it mean? The grain, the shield…"</p><p>"It means—" Arthur paused. How much could he give away? "It means we have a sorcerer on our side. And I think, steward, that we should use every advantage we've been given over my sister."</p><p>"As you wish, my lord," the steward bowed. Arthur walked back to the walls, Merlin trailing after.</p><p>"Do you…" The servant paused, and Arthur looked over his shoulder. "Do you really think there's a sorcerer on our side?"</p><p>Arthur wanted to tell Merlin, right then and there. But they were in the middle of a hallway, right before a battle—a prolonged siege. The poor sorcerer looked exhausted: more exhausted than he had weeks before, when Arthur first began worrying.</p><p>Was now the right time? Would it distract Merlin? But what if—what if something went wrong? What if Arthur never got to thank him? A part of the prince wanted to go ahead with the charade to see if Merlin would confess, given enough indirect support.</p><p>Would he admit to the sorcery if Arthur promised to reward the one who'd put up the shield and multiplied the grain?</p><p>"I—" Arthur was cut off as Leon came sprinting down the corridor.</p><p>"Sire!" he shouted. "The army—it's arrived!"</p><p>Arthur swore and followed the knight, Merlin at his heels.</p><p>"How many?" the prince asked. Their scouts had given estimates, but it had been difficult with the darkness—and the nature of the army. The number of ravens or bats in the sky was harder to determine than the number of men on the ground.</p><p>"Hundreds of Sluagh, sire, though less than a thousand. Fifty or sixty mercenaries—and a few dozen sorcerers, including Morgana. None can seem to get through, my lord, save the mercenaries," Leon reported as they hurried.</p><p>That was fortunate. There was no way to take Camelot with less than a hundred men. Arthur wanted to thank Merlin right then and there, but instead he kept his gaze forward.</p><p>"What is the plan, sire?" Leon asked. They reached the wall, and Arthur peered down at the road below. Morgana rode at the front, atop a dazzling, white stallion. She was dressed for battle, donned in light chainmail, a sword at her hip. The horse pranced from side to side, clearly unsure of the shield, though the prince couldn't see his half-sister's expression from where he was. Behind her rode a few others; the rest of her army was on foot—or in the sky.</p><p>Hundreds of ravens sat in the trees on either side of the road, blackening them like rotten leaves. But there was something <em>wrong </em>about them; their wings and heads twitched and quivered, as though aching to move. They didn't caw—instead, little giggles left their beaks when they opened them. They were shapeshifters, and Arthur didn't know if their true forms would be more or less eerie.</p><p>"I must go down and speak with her," the prince said. At the others' protests, he said, more firmly, "I have to try and turn her back. It's clear that this isn't a malfunctioning spell of hers—she's stymied by the shield."</p><p>"Not alone," Merlin said quickly.</p><p>"Fine," Arthur agreed. "Merlin, come with me. The rest of you—keep an eye on her army, and the sorcerers. Keep your crossbows at the ready."</p><p>Gwaine made a half-hearted protest at Merlin not being a knight, but they all nodded and dispersed, intent on their duties. Many of Arthur's other knights were on the ground, preparing in case Morgana had more mercenaries and was planning on attacking from another side of the citadel. Merlin himself raised his eyebrows at the orders but didn't complain—probably he was pleased he didn't have to fight to be close to the prince.</p><p>Arthur climbed down from the wall and nodded for the guards to lift the portcullis. They did so reluctantly, clearly not accustomed to magical shields protecting them. And the prince supposed the mercenaries might still get through.</p><p>Somehow, standing next to Merlin, he didn't feel like that would be a problem.</p><p>"What are you planning to do?" Merlin asked in hushed tones as the guards finished raising the gate.</p><p>"I have to at least try and reason with her," Arthur whispered back, grimacing. "She's at a disadvantage, now. She was hoping to overtake us with one brutal attack we couldn't defend ourselves from, but now she has to wait. The majority of her army is useless, and if she's to continue to pressure us, she'll have to somehow transport supplies. We don't. It's simple logic."</p><p>"Somehow I don't think she'll see things like that," Merlin muttered, and though Arthur agreed, he stepped forward.</p><p>Morgana urged her horse forward, her eyes narrowed, searching Arthur's.</p><p>"What is this?" she hissed, glancing from Arthur to Merlin to the shield.</p><p>"I thought you, of all people, might recognize magic when you saw it," the prince said, spreading his arms. It was odd to watch her through the glow of the shield.</p><p>"Don't pretend with me, Arthur. What did you promise the sorcerers who did this for you? Clemency? You're just like Uther; you'll discard them as soon as this is all over. A hypocrite, using magic even though it's punishable by death," Morgana said. Her tone was righteous, but Arthur had known her a long time: there was a stillness to her, a sadness. He guessed the distinct lack of Morgause had something to do with it.</p><p>"I asked no sorcerer to defend me or Camelot," Arthur said. "Though I won't turn away the advantages they've given me, and I would give them clemency and more if they were to come forward. This won't end well for you, Morgana. Turn back with your army of monsters." He didn't care that he was pleading. Arthur was desperate for some sign of the woman he'd known, some sign that she wasn't completely gone.</p><p>"What? Afraid I'll win?" the woman taunted. "I would ask how you managed to get the dragon under your thumb, if only to satisfy my own curiosity."</p><p>Dragon? She must have meant Kilgharrah—but what had the dragon done? "I'm afraid I don't know what you mean," Arthur said. "I don't know anything about a dragon."</p><p>Morgana sneered. "You can pretend ignorance about your pet sorcerers, but the dragon? Surely you must be controlling it, for it to have harried us all the way here. You can't tell me you didn't know; the thing was clearly defending the kingdom it once sought to destroy."</p><p>Arthur raised his hands. "I tell you no lies," he said. "I knew not of the dragon, and I don't know these sorcerers—or why they defend me." If Morgana was going to refer to more than one, it was best he play along, too. But how <em>had </em>Merlin gotten Kilgharrah to attack Morgana? Was it simply their odd friendship? Or did it have to do with Merlin being a dragonlord?</p><p>Morgana only laughed—a slightly hysterical, mad sound. "And I suppose you'll go on a witch hunt to find them. What then? You'll burn them on the pyre, revel in their screams. No, Arthur, I will not turn back. Not after everything Camelot has done to my kind—it's time for this <em>kingdom </em>to be purged."</p><p>Arthur paled, though he tried to hide how badly the idea bothered him. He almost <em>had </em>hurt Merlin, irreversibly. He stepped forward until he was just inches from the shield. He lowered his voice, not wanting the guards to hear. "My—<em>our—</em>father was responsible for evil things; I acknowledge that. Please don't follow in his footsteps by murdering innocents."</p><p>"<em>Uther," </em>Morgana spat furiously, "has never been—and never will be—my father. I will break this paltry shield down, and you will watch the kingdom you love die before your very eyes. My only—<em>only—</em>regret is that Uther is too broken to see it, too." She wheeled her horse around, and Arthur couldn't help but raise his hand. She was gone, then. Gone and dead. Uther had killed her, in a way, though perhaps so had Arthur.</p><p><em>I'm sorry, </em>he thought. <em>I'm so sorry I didn't realize before. </em>And he was apologizing to Morgana, apologizing to Merlin—apologizing to all those he'd watch die on the pyre, standing by as his father gave the order.</p><p>A hand landed on his shoulder. "You tried, Arthur. No one can ask more than that," Merlin said.</p><p><em>They could ask for me to succeed, </em>he thought. "We'll just have to force her to retreat the hard way," he said. They walked back through the gate, and Arthur motioned to the guards to lower the portcullis again.</p><p>"Did you mean it?" Merlin asked.</p><p>"Mean what?" Arthur glanced behind him because of course he knew what Merlin meant.</p><p>"That you would give the sorcerer clemency?" If the prince was looking for it, he could see an earnest hope in his servant's eyes. Merlin's fingers were clenched together, though he seemed not to notice.</p><p>"I meant it," Arthur said, but Merlin didn't say anything further. "They've saved Camelot, whoever they are. I won't let that go unrewarded." It felt like a lie, when he'd been so ready to punish Merlin, but this—<em>this—</em>was nothing but the truth.</p><hr/><p>Morgana's fireball fizzled out against the shield, the same way two fingers might pinch out a candle. Merlin tried not to flinch, but the shield seemed unaffected. She gave a roar of frustration, and Merlin could feel her magic—and the other sorcerers'—as they searched for a weak point in the shield. What they likely didn't realize was that it wasn't keyed to the magical enemies of Camelot; it was keyed to the Sluagh's magic (something much easier to do). In performing the Working, Morgana's magic had become too entangled with the Sluagh's to pass through the shield.</p><p>Although the magic diluted the influence of the Sluagh's magic, Merlin swore the ravens' eyes followed him. He swallowed against the trickle of their malice in the back of his throat, the lingering taste of charcoal and oil and something foul. Did they know it was him that had raised the shield? Could they tell Morgana?</p><p>
  <em>No, stop thinking about that. </em>
</p><p>Although Morgana—and her mages'—magic couldn't get through the shield, the mercenaries' weapons had no such issues. They'd brought no siege equipment—no ladders, rope, or catapults, but many of the mercenaries had crossbows. Not enough to harm, but enough to be irritating.</p><p>They were truly at a stalemate: Morgana and her sorcerers couldn't break the shield, but Arthur and his knights couldn't leave the shield without exposing themselves. Their best chance would be to drive them off without leaving the shield.</p><p>Merlin turned away. They would have to drive the army off before the food ran out, while Morgana would be able to get supplies. It wasn't the best solution, perhaps, but it was the only one Merlin had managed in such a short amount of time.</p><p>And if he could manage to drive the Sluagh off… The warlock was certain now that Morgana and her sycophants had summoned thick clouds to darken the sky, keeping it dim enough for her army. If he could undo the spell, they would be sent into retreat, searching for someplace dark to rest.</p><p>Merlin slunk back toward Camelot. Everyone would have to do without him for a while as he figured it out. He darted into a deserted alley, crouching down between the two ramshackle houses. Closing his eyes, he tried to sense the spell on the sky. It was difficult to feel through his own thick layer of magic, but he managed to find it.</p><p>It was thin but strong, like a sheet of steel. He probed it, searching for some kind of weakness. How could he break it? What would be the counter-spell for such darkness? <em>"Fribcandel beswælen lyftedor," </em>he whispered. His eyes flashed gold, and he could see his spell taking shape in his mind's eye.</p><p>But it wasn't enough to get through the combined magicks of nearly forty sorcerers. He cursed softly and tried again. It was like battering a door with his hand: it made a lot of noise, but it wasn't really effective at knocking it down.</p><p>Merlin tried again, this time pouring more magic into the spell. The curse on the sky bent slightly but didn't break, as though he'd merely made a dent. And a small dent, at that.</p><p>The warlock sighed, standing and wiping sweat from his brow. Despite the cold, he felt warm. He dreaded the thought that he might be getting sick, instead attributing it to the spell that had burned the Sluagh's voices away.</p><p>He supposed it would be best to get back to Arthur before the man started searching for him. As he walked back to the wall, he wondered at the prince regent's new attitude. How could his ideas on magic have changed so quickly, and without Merlin noticing?</p><p>Only weeks ago, Arthur had told him magic was evil, corrupting, a terrible force on the world. And now he would offer clemency to the one who had put up the shield? He hadn't even seemed alarmed to hear of the dragon. It was baffling; where had the Arthur who would've raged and been so wholly confused gone? How had he been replaced by this—this—this man who seemed open to the idea of <em>good </em>magic?</p><p>Merlin wouldn't dare let himself hope. Perhaps it was all a ruse, a cover… To what? Lull the sorcerer into a false sense of security? The warlock could picture Uther doing such a thing (that was how he had gotten the dragonlords, after all), but Arthur? The prince had a temper sometimes, but he was true to his word.</p><p>He reached the wall in time to see the soldiers fire a volley of arrows at Morgana and her sorcerers below. As some of them passed through the shield, they seemed to glow. Morgana and her sorcerers summoned their own magicks to turn the volley away, but the glowing ones made it through their defenses, hitting four or five of the sorcerers. They screamed and shouted in surprised, some backing up.</p><p>The soldiers on top of the wall also shouted in surprise, though Merlin heard Arthur give the order to hold and prepare another volley.</p><p><em>Right.. </em>He'd enchanted some of the arrows to be resistant to magic—going through the shield had activated them, though there was nothing really there for them to resist. Other arrows would catch flame when they landed. The runes had been so delicate and small to avoid notice, some likely wouldn't even work, already damaged. But some would, and that would give them an edge.</p><p>"<em>YOU HYPOCRITE!" </em>Morgana roared, magic magnifying her voice. She summoned wind and fire and a host of cutting spells, slashing at the shield with a terrifying intensity. The soldiers on top of the battlements shied away, taking cover just in case.</p><p>But none got through. After a month of feeding the Working, Morgana's magic was too close to the Sluagh's—it reeked of it.</p><p>The witch seemed to have given her mages silent instructions, because some began to also throw spells at the shield. Merlin breathed a sigh of relief that none got through; all of the mages must have either helped with the Working or been around it that some of its "scent" had leaked into their magic.</p><p>"<em>HOW DARE YOU USE MAGIC WHEN YOU CONDEM IT?" </em>Morgana bellowed from the ground. Arthur stepped forward to look down at her, and Merlin almost wanted to urge him to get back, though he knew the shield would protect him. <em>"LOOK AT YOUR PRINCE, CAMELOT. HE DEFIES YOUR KING, YOUR RULES. HE USES THE THING HE CLAIMS IS EVIL! YOU WOULD LIVE UNDER HIM? SERVE HIM? HE SERVES ONLY HIMSELF!" </em></p><p>None of the knights or soldiers seemed particularly swayed by this argument. Leon gave a belated <em>"Fire!" </em>and another swarm of arrows rained down onto Morgana's sorcerers. They were more careful this time, though Merlin saw a couple of sorcerer's robes catch fire, and one arrow landed on their leg.</p><p>Still, they were minor wounds, easily fixed with magic. Merlin wondered, as he made it up to stand on the wall, what it would take to convince Morgana's mages to retreat. He knew the witch herself would never give the order; she was too invested for that.</p><p>"<em>I WILL KILL YOU, ARTHUR PENDRAGON. YOU AND CAMELOT WILL NOT MAKE IT FROM THIS ENCOUNTER ALIVE," </em>Morgana swore with her loud, booming voice. Then, again seemingly giving another silent order, she wheeled her horse and melted into the woods with her mages and mercenaries.</p><p>The crows gave more cackles, but they didn't otherwise move, still like black leaves on the bare branches. Merlin shuddered. Morgana wouldn't go far; she would keep them trapped in Camelot. She didn't know how much food they had.</p><p>Although it was clear she wasn't gone for good, some of the soldiers and knights on the walls gave up cheers. Arthur, Merlin noticed, didn't join in, and others seemed uncertain. Likely because magic had given them this first victory.</p><p>"She'll be back," the prince said, lowering his crossbow, and Leon nodded.</p><p>"She will," he said. "Sire…" He glanced around. "What are we going to do?"</p><p>Arthur looked at him. "About what?" he asked. Merlin, who had a feeling he knew exactly what the knight was referring to, shrunk back. He couldn't afford not to hear the conversation, but he found he didn't really want to.</p><p>"About…" Leon gestured wildly, uncharacteristic for the usually calm knight. "Everything. The shield, the arrows… What does it mean?" He had lowered his voice to a hiss, but the other knights leaned in close, eager to hear what exactly the prince regent's answer was.</p><p>Merlin found himself holding his breath. If Arthur still agreed to clemency… Was this it? Was this the moment, the time to come forward? The prince would be king soon, Morgana was on their doorstep… This might be his best chance, his only chance, to convince Arthur of his good magic, his good intentions.</p><p>"What can I do, Leon?" the prince asked, equally quiet. "If a sorcerer—or sorcerers—want to help Camelot, I cannot—<em>will not</em>—stop them. We have not yet lost a single man, woman, or child. We have not yet had to truly engage with an enemy that may well overwhelm us. We are sheltered. Those are the facts, Leon. You nor I can dispute them, magic or not."</p><p>Gwaine, to the right of Arthur, nodded. "Whoever these people are, they're clearly against Morgana. And even if they have their own agenda… 'An enemy of my enemy is my friend,' and all that. I agree with the princess—we don't really have any choice except to roll with it."</p><p>The other knights also nodded, and Merlin's heart warmed. Even if this wasn't really acceptance, even if this really wasn't them knowing him and loving him despite his magic… It was a step in the right direction, and he found himself pleased. He didn't want to add more fuel for the blooming hope inside him, but he couldn't deny himself this, not after so long of being certain that no one save Gaius and Lancelot would ever truly know him, all of him.</p><p>"Right," Arthur said. "Exactly. Now, I just have to make sure everyone else understands this, too."</p><hr/><p>"We have to find him, sire!" Aldwin blustered. The dome of his pink head was shiny with sweat, and what little hair he had left stuck out in odd tufts. "No sorcerer can be allowed to roam Camelot freely, interfering with our soldiers' equipment!"</p><p>Arthur's jaw clenched, the only open sign of frustration he would let himself have. His situation as prince regent was tenuous at best. He had taken the crown temporarily with support from the council, but they might just as easily revoke that support if they disagreed. While none would be openly treasonous, they could make life very difficult for him.</p><p>Not to mention, if he showed support for the sorcerer… They might suspect he was enchanted, with such a change in attitude. And then, when Merlin was revealed… They might think it in the kingdom's best interest to dispose of the "source" of the enchantment. It had been their plan with the troll, after all, before Arthur, Merlin, and Gaius had broken it themselves.</p><p>And Merlin dying was not something Arthur was about to allow. He would have to get support to the warlock, though he wasn't sure how. Camelot's citizens had been fed lies about magic for so long—<em>he </em>had been fed lies for so long… How could he change those opinions?</p><p>How could he make sure Merlin was safe in Camelot, safe and happy in this home that had rejected him? The sorcerer had embraced it despite their hatred and distrust, despite the scars he'd earned for it. It was the least Arthur could do.</p><p>The only question was how. How, how, how?</p><p>"How do you propose we do that, Lord Aldwin?" Arthur asked coolly, clasping his hands. The walls were well taken care of, his knights and soldiers vigilant against both the mages and Sluagh lurking in the forest. The prince knew Morgana was plotting, trying to find some way to circumvent Merlin's defenses.</p><p>"Launch a hunt!" Aldwin said, in a tone that implied he thought the solution obvious. "We must send the knights out to scour every inch of the citadel!"</p><p>"And take them away from the walls?" Arthur asked. "We can't afford to divert resources from the current threat." If he could convince them to focus on Morgana for the present, he could buy time to make a plan. He could, under no circumstances, reveal that he knew the sorcerer. They would suspect him enchanted for sure, and do everything in their power to stymie him. They might try to take the regency from him, though his father was still in no state to feed himself, never mind run a kingdom.</p><p>"The prince regent is right, I think," Lady Muriel interjected, her croaky voice carrying well despite her age. "The witch is attempting to destroy Camelot, while this sorcerer—whoever he may be—is defending it."</p><p>"But—" Aldwin tried to interrupt, but Muriel held up a hand.</p><p>"I dare not speculate that the sorcerer does so for altruistic reasons, Lord Aldwin. I am merely pointing out that, as Prince Arthur said, we cannot afford to waste resources searching for someone who is not doing us any harm." Arthur met her eyes and tried to convey his sense of gratitude toward her, though he couldn't give any outward signs. Muriel nodded to show her piece was done.</p><p>"I understand your point, Lady Muriel," Agravaine interjected, "but I fear what the sorcerer may do if we leave him be. Who is to say that he isn't lulling us into a false sense of security, ready to lower the shield and let Morgana raze Camelot when our defenses are gone?"</p><p>Lord Sterling snorted. He was one of the younger council members, though that meant he was in his fourth decade rather than his fifth, sixth, or seventh. He had dark skin and hair, though his eyes were a pale green. "That seems like a rather convoluted plan, Lord Agravaine."</p><p>"The ways a sorcerer's mind works are mysterious," Arthur's uncle said, raising his hands. "They often think in twisted convolutions."</p><p>Aldwin nodded, as did a few others, but Sterling and Muriel seemed unconvinced.</p><p>"That doesn't change the simple logic of the situation," Arthur pointed out, hoping to win his councilors over with sense and not suspicion. "One of the sorcerers is trying to actively harm us. We can't fight on two fronts; would it not be best to ignore the—" <em>Sorry, Merlin. </em>"—lesser of two evils for now?"</p><p>"The logic is sound," Geoffrey added. He rarely spoke up, though he'd been on the council since Arthur could remember. "And indisputable. Besides, this sorcerer conjured the shield. If we were to find him and kill him, it might fall. And that would leave us at the mercy of Morgana. I'm sure you all will recall how she treated us last time." He gave a pointed look at the other councilors, who shifted uncomfortably.</p><p>Most had spent Morgana's take over either in their chambers, pretending not to exist, or going along with her for fear of death. Both options had been cowardly, though Arthur couldn't blame them: had they fought, they would've died brutally and painfully.</p><p>"I can't believe I've lived to see the day that Uther's son decided <em>against </em>fighting magic," Lady Eleanor said. She was taking the place of her husband, who was holding their lands on the outskirts of the kingdom. Though she was in her fifties, Arthur thought she still looked rather regal. "What kind of precedent will we set if we allow this act of magic to go unpunished? Will sorcerers think themselves free to use magic in Camelot? There will be chaos in the streets."</p><p><em>Would it be so bad if it were to go unpunished? </em>Arthur thought. The other councilors nodded.</p><p>"Not unpunished," Sterling denied. "Simply <em>delayed </em>punishment. We don't have the resources to split our attention. Besides, we might as well take advantage of the shield. <em>Then, </em>we find the sorcerer and do as the law prescribes. You can't argue that this sorcerer—whatever his reasons—has given us an edge over the witch."</p><p>Although Arthur appreciated his cold logic, he shuddered to imagine arresting Merlin and executing him after promising him clemency. But Sterling's attitude only strengthened the prince's resolve: he <em>would </em>have to find a way to convince his council. Should they think him indisposed, they might withdraw their soldiers, their knights, and other resources he needed to run the kingdom.</p><p>They might depose him to rule through his father, a puppet king who would give them whatever they wanted. And the citizens might not realize what was happening until their prince was banished, imprisoned, or killed. It had happened to other rulers of other kingdoms; kings took their power from their nobles and their citizens. If neither listened… There might be riots, a coupe… All manner of things.</p><p>"Supposing the sorcerer won't attack us himself while we deal with Morgana," Aldwin said, bringing a handkerchief up to dab his sweaty head. "Perhaps this shield is merely a diversion so that we let our guard down."</p><p>"That's ridiculous," Muriel dismissed, waving her hand. "That logic doesn't hold."</p><p>"Pardon me, madam, but sorcerers don't <em>use </em>logic," Agravaine put in. "He could still try to kill us all, hiding in the shadows."</p><p>"Morgana used fairly sound logic when she took over the citadel!" Sterling said. Arthur's councilors dissolved into arguing, one side for finding the sorcerer and executing him right away, the other for doing the same but only later. Neither option, however, was acceptable.</p><p>"<em>Enough!" </em>Arthur shouted, standing. The table fell quiet. "We are going to drive my sister and her army out of my kingdom," he said quietly, holding up his hand to forestall any comments. He'd placed a subtle emphasis on <em>my. </em>He might be regent—not king—but they were deluding themselves if they thought they could dictate what happened to Merlin. "Then, we will find the sorcerer." He sat back down, to show the matter was closed.</p><p>They would not be executing Merlin, banishing him, or otherwise harming him. Arthur could see himself—and his former hatred—in the councilors' eyes. And they had <em>seen </em>what it was like prior to the Purge. Was it all an act? Because surely his father hadn't poisoned them to the point that they could no longer acknowledge what they must once have known.</p><p>Maybe the best way to remind them—to gain their support for lifting the ban—was to do exactly what had been done to him. He wouldn't expose Merlin's diary to all of Camelot, but his deeds… All the times he'd saved it…</p><p>That, perhaps, he could do. The only question that remained was how.</p><p>"We will have to make some sort of spectacle of him," Agravaine said. "To deter others from thinking we are becoming lenient. The peasantry can't become accustomed to the idea that they can use magic freely in Camelot."</p><p><em>Peasantry. </em>It was a word his father might've used to described the ordinary citizens of Camelot. Arthur had never much liked it; it gave them an otherness, something the nobles could point to so that they might deny their duties to them.</p><p>"Yes," Arthur said, barely keeping the irritation from his voice. "A spectacle." But his uncle didn't detect the derision in his voice.</p><p>"A stoning, perhaps," Agravaine said. "Or perhaps drawing and quartering. I know Uther is fond of burning, but after so many times, the pyre doesn't instill the same fear, I think."</p><p>Arthur refused to let himself think of Merlin being burned, much less drawn and quartered. He might vomit, as he had when he'd thought of he himself running Merlin through. But that would've been a merciful death compared to Agravaine's suggestion.</p><p>The prince regent frowned as the rest of the councilors nodded—except for Geoffrey, who was looking pale. Good—at least he could count on one voice of reason. "I was thinking of a different kind of spectacle," he hinted, and the other councilors sat up.</p><p>"What do you mean, sire?" Eleanor asked.</p><p>Arthur ignored the question. "I've been thinking, lords and ladies. Things haven't been adding up. The immortal army disappeared without a trace, Morgause and Nimueh—two sorceresses that have tried to kill me and harm Camelot multiple times—have also disappeared. It was not I, nor any of my knights, who hurt Morgause. I don't recall landing a mortal blow on the dragon, and now I hear from my sister's own lips that this same dragon has harried her and her army as she approached Camelot.</p><p>"Tell me—when we find this sorcerer, should we stone him? Draw and quarter him?" His voice had gone quiet, but he knew it had carried; his councilors were so silent they might've been statues. None of them even seemed to breathe, listening to him say things he never would've thought he'd said a month ago.</p><p>"Sire," Sterling said softly, "your father yet lives. You cannot go against one of his most basic tenets when you are not even king."</p><p>"Being prince regent is not enough to delay an execution and get the answers I seek?" Arthur asked mildly. "I thought dispensing justice was one of my main functions as ruler of Camelot."</p><p>Sterling's lips tightened. "It is, my lord. But your allusions to pardoning a sorcerer disturb me."</p><p>"Your allusions to executing a man who has done nothing but help us disturb <em>me</em>, Lord Sterling," Arthur said. "I am the prince regent, and it is well within my power to pardon someone I find worthy. Do any of you dispute this?" He looked each of his councilors in the eye, but none protested. It <em>was</em> a power he held, after all.</p><p>"Sire—" Aldwin's face scrunched, as though he were in pain. "I realize that it may look as though this sorcerer is helping, but such a thing is impossible. Magic corrupts."</p><p>"Perhaps," Arthur said noncommittally. "But I find myself in need of reassurance. Regardless, the sorcerer that put the shield up over Camelot is not our most pressing issue, as we've decided." Or rather, as he'd decided, and he wasn't about to hear any more about it. He was the prince, dammit. "We need to focus our energy on Morgana. She is capable of replenishing her supplies, while we are not. And given enough time, she might find some way to circumvent the shield. We've just been given some time…"</p><p>The discussion turned from the sorcerer—whom no one but Arthur knew was actually Merlin—to Morgana and how they might prepare should the shield fall. The prince didn't think it would fall easily, but Merlin was just one man. Morgana had a few dozen sorcerers on her side, not to mention the Sluagh themselves.</p><p>Merlin himself came up to refill everyone's goblets. As Arthur's manservant, he was one of the only staff members permitted in such important meetings. If the prince hadn't been looking for it, he never would've noticed the shaking of the man's fingers as he topped Arthur's cup with watered-down wine.</p><p>Perhaps it was time to tell him that Arthur knew. That, surely, would alleviate some of his anxiety surrounding his potential discovery. On the other hand, would it distract him? Or Arthur?</p><p>And… The prince didn't know how to tell the man that he'd taken his diary and read through it. He didn't necessarily regret the breach of privacy, but he couldn't help but wonder if Merlin would be angry. Or would he simply be relieved that the prince accepted him?</p><p>He would have to discuss it with Gwen, though he knew what she would say. She was ready to tell him that they knew—ready from the beginning.</p><p>So perhaps it really was time.</p><hr/><p>It was a lot harder to speak with Merlin than Arthur thought. Every time he tried to broach the subject, they were interrupted. As it turned out, a siege was not the best time to have a heart-to-heart conversation. He thought about just blurting it out (<em>"I know you have magic, Merlin!"</em>), but what if that was all he could say before he or Merlin had to rush off somewhere?</p><p>Really, he thought guiltily, he should have done it before. Now he barely had time to think about it, much less actually discuss it. Morgana had spent the day after her arrival circling the shield, setting up sorcerers in intervals around it. They'd tried multiple spells to, presumably, knock it down. Nothing worked.</p><p>The next day, she'd sent the Sluagh to the shield. They had fared the same as the sorcerers, though, unlike Morgana and her mages, the shield seemed to pain them when they touched it. It was the only time their cackling giggles had stopped.</p><p>The Sluagh had yet to change from crows and the occasional bat. Arthur dreaded what they actually looked like beneath the animal skins, and he could tell they grew restless. The three days before, they'd been motionless in the trees. But today they shuffled their feet and groomed their feathers irritably, squawking and laughing at each other.</p><p>More than once, Arthur had thought he'd seen Morgana eyeing them nervously, and he wondered how well she could actually control the things. If they could hold out long enough, would the Sluagh turn on her and her mages? Would they destroy themselves, two halves of the army fighting? That would mean no wasted resources—or lives—trying to drive her off.</p><p>Some of his tacticians thought it might be best to send out a few squads of knights and soldiers to strike at Morgana's forces in an attempt to tire them out should they eventually be forced into a confrontation. They would trade out the teams for fresh ones, always retreating back to the shield.</p><p>For an ordinary army, such a thing might work; Arthur's forces knew the forest much better than any invaders would. But this was no ordinary army, and the prince couldn't justify the risk—not until they were desperate, anyway.</p><p>Fortunately, that desperation looked like it might be a while off: their food supply was well in hand, and his troops were well rested.</p><p>The only thing Arthur wished he might change was the sky. It was still obscured in darkness, dimmed for the Sluagh's benefit. If they could somehow lift it… But no. Merlin had likely tried already, and he was the only one who might be able to.</p><p>From atop the wall, Arthur eyed the dark forest. Usually welcoming and green, it looked like one dark snarl of trunks and branches. Morgana was hiding just beyond his sight, staying well out of a crossbow's range.</p><p>Even as he had the thought, she emerged from the trees, atop her white stallion. It tossed its head, but Arthur's sister urged it forward with her knees. As his men raised their crossbows to fire, she raised her hand.</p><p>"I want only to talk!" she called up. "Come and have a conversation with your dear sister, Arthur." He could hear the smirk in her tone, but he couldn't see the harm in it, so long as he stayed on his side of the shield.</p><p>He scanned his knights. "Leon," he said, waving, "accompany me." Merlin was off doing something—hopefully something helpful and possibly magical. Arthur would have to be sure not to give him grief when he came back.</p><p>"Of course, sire," Leon said, following him off the wall. Arthur gestured for the guards to raise the portcullis, and they did so. Morgana was still on her horse—she probably enjoyed the feeling of looking down at him. Her eyes were red-rimmed, like she'd been crying, or she'd been without sleep for a long time. But her hair was shiny and curled nicely.</p><p>"What do you want, Morgana?" he asked, stepping forward. He kept a couple meters away from the shield, just to be safe.</p><p>"Why so cold, brother?" she said, nearly spitting the title. It stung, to know how much she seemed to hate him. "You were so eager to speak with me just a few days ago."</p><p>"You made it clear you've no intention of turning away from Camelot," Arthur said. He hated how imperious she was, the smile playing at the corners of her lips, like she knew something he didn't. He used to like the smile—it was the one she'd used when she beat him at chess or figured out the answer to a logic problem faster than him. But now the warmth was leeched from it, and all that was left was cold embers.</p><p>"Perhaps I've reconsidered," she said. "It's clear that whoever you've employed is skilled. Instead of killing them, you might consider keeping them in the dungeons until they're useful again."</p><p>Arthur gritted his teeth, trying not to let the comment get under his skin. "Again, I have not enlisted any sorcerers to help me."</p><p>"Don't play coy; it doesn't suit you," Morgana said. "There's no need to hide it—your dirty little secret is safe with me." She mimed sealing her lips.</p><p>"Morgana, I have not hired a single mage," Arthur said. "And if I had, I would surely not repay them by locking them away."</p><p>"Liar!" the witch shrieked suddenly, spittle flying from her lips. Her face contorted, rage marring her forehead and mouth into sharp, angry lines. "You're a liar, just as your father is! A no-good, dirty, rotten <em>liar!" </em>She sat there fuming, chest heaving. She no longer seemed so perfectly composed.</p><p>"What do you want?" Arthur repeated. He wouldn't stand here and listen to her insult him.</p><p>Morgana seemed to take a moment to collect herself, and the rage in her face cooled to a slow simmer as opposed to a boil. "I told you: I've reconsidered. I want your word that you will not chase after us should we retreat. Nor will you cross into another kingdom to capture me."</p><p>Arthur tried not to scoff. The words "Morgana" and "retreat" didn't belong in the same paragraph, never mind the same sentence. "I didn't take you for a coward," he said. Leon glanced at him, and Arthur knew he doubted the witch's words, too.</p><p>"Is it cowardly to know when you've been beaten?" Morgana asked. "I like to think I'm intelligent enough to cut my losses. Three days without any sign of the shield weakening… Your mages must be powerful."</p><p>Three days was not such a long time—sieges had lasted much longer than that, and Morgana could be patient when it suited her. But Arthur didn't know what length of time was typical for magic shields. "I wouldn't know," he said.</p><p>This comment, unlike his last, didn't send Morgana into a rage. "Do I have your word, Arthur Pendragon?"</p><p>"You would, if I actually thought you would retreat," Arthur said. "But parts of your army grow restless—they must be itching for a fight. I wonder what they'll do when they don't get it?"</p><p>A brief look of anxiety crossed her face, and he knew he'd understood the situation perfectly. "That's not your concern, is it?"</p><p>"What happened to destroying Camelot? You can't have given up so easily," Arthur said. Morgana was stubborn, and he doubted that trait had changed, though everything else had. Like flesh rotting off a skeleton—it was no longer the person it had been, but the remains were there, the most basic part of them.</p><p>And she'd been planning this for a month or more. Three days of not getting what she wanted and she suddenly decided to leave? It just didn't make sense.</p><p>"A tactical retreat isn't equivalent to giving up." Morgana looked over Arthur's soldier at the cobbled street. "I <em>will </em>have Camelot someday. I will have it and burn it to the ground."</p><p>"That makes you no better than Uther, for all that you're on the other side of the conflict," Arthur said. "He enjoys punishing others for his own mistakes."</p><p>"And what mistakes have I made that you're referring to?" Morgana hissed, her eyes narrowing. "I was terrified, living here with my magic. He <em>drove me away! </em>None of that was my fault."</p><p>"Your mistake was your failure to stay in Camelot, to earn the citizens' trust," Arthur said calmly. Her anger only served him well; a general clouded by feelings wouldn't make as sound decisions. "Your mistake was running away with a witch who wanted your home destroyed."</p><p>"<em>Morgause </em>was not a mistake," Morgana said. Her eyes flashed gold, and the shrubs on either side of the road caught fire, though she didn't seem surprised or alarmed. Leon flinched. "You would do well not to anger me—I might decide to prolong my stay."</p><p>"Your army wouldn't be pleased with that choice," Arthur said, gesturing at the crows in the trees. They jostled one another, nipping and giggling.</p><p>"They aren't your problem unless the shield falls, so don't worry your pretty little head." Morgana smirked and tilted her head, as though she had just thought of something. "Or perhaps you should worry quite a lot."</p><p>The alarm bells in Arthur's head began to ring, and he tensed, looking behind him—there. With dawning horror, he watched as the apex of the shield bent and rippled and began to fall.</p><p>He shouted something—he couldn't really register what—and drew his sword as the shield came entirely down. Excalibur sung in his hands, lighter than air.</p><p>"<em>Sweng," </em>Morgana snarled, her hand making a slashing, diagonal motion in front of her. Bright light came from her finger tips, and Excalibur leaped in Arthur's grip like it had a will of its own. It swiped through the beam of light, preventing it from making contact.</p><p>Though it missed the prince regent entirely, its range was so wide he heard Leon cry out and clutch his thigh—it must've been cut—it was difficult to see in the darkness, without the shield. Only, Excalibur seemed to be glowing faintly to Arthur's eyes.</p><p>He heard the flapping of hundreds of wings, could barely see the glisten of oily feathers—except they were changing, twisting, morphing, and suddenly Arthur felt like vomiting, felt like he had to get rid of the awful horrible feeling in his stomach. There was a dark miasma of fear suffocating him, terror and disgust vying in his throat, and the sound of flapping was overtaken by laughter. It was suddenly hard to move, though the hand holding Excalibur was still limber.</p><p>The shield had fallen, and the Sluagh had arrived.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Only one chapter left, and then an epilogue (don't worry though, I'm planning on a sequel). Thanks as always for the response! What did you think? Did you like the council meeting? What about the Morgana-Arthur dialogue? Has everything made sense plot-wise?</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0011"><h2>11. Chapter 11</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Warning: Slight dub-con kiss</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <strong>Chapter Eleven: The Best Laid Plans</strong>
</p><p>Merlin didn't know what to believe, and he didn't know how to ask Arthur. His eventual fate rested with the prince regent, but he didn't even know whether said prince regent had been truthful when he'd spoken to his advisors about the unknown sorcerer.</p><p>He'd <em>sounded </em>truthful. And there was no reason to lie in the council room, unless Arthur suspected one of the old fogies was the sorcerer. So… That only left the option that he'd been giving his actual opinion.</p><p>No immediate search—no immediate execution. Arthur had even caught onto the odd inconsistencies of his own victories. Maybe… Maybe it was time to tell him; this was the most receptive Merlin had ever seen him, and he didn't think he'd get another opportunity.</p><p>The warlock, huddled in an alcove, didn't know what to do. The shield was holding—they had time. This <em>had </em>to be the opportunity he'd always been waiting for—what else could it be? This was it. He put his head in his hands, and he realized they were shaking.</p><p>Could he really do this? Confess to years of lying and take whatever punishment Arthur gave? Merlin wanted to trust Arthur to make the right decision, to pardon him or at least not banish or execute him. He wanted to so <em>badly. </em>But the prince had always been adamant that magic was evil—before now, at least. How had his attitude changed so quickly?</p><p>Merlin sighed and straightened. Tonight. He'd do it tonight; he could be decisive if he had a deadline, so he would <em>make</em> a deadline. No choice—he'd confess, and then he'd see if Arthur was good for his word. He was man who lived by his honor, if nothing else, so he'd have to be, right?</p><p>Right?</p><p>He wanted to check in the armory, see if he might enchant a few more miscellaneous weapons and armor, but something cold trickled down his spine, liquid dread pooling between his shoulder blades like icy sweat. He shivered. Something was wrong—horribly, utterly wrong.</p><p>And he realized that the feeling of his magic—an extension of himself, like hearing his own voice—was fading. Fading… But how? Why? Panicked, Merlin began to run and eventually broke out into a full-blown sprint. The Sluagh—they were excited. He could hear the voices in his mind again, their twittering and hunger—but why could he hear them, why could he feel them—</p><p>His shield was gone.</p><p>The warm blanket of safety (of <em>himself, </em>and that was kind of weird to think about, as though he'd cloaked Camelot in a shield of his own skin) had vanished. There was nothing preventing the thick, heavy malice from asserting itself on Camelot's unsuspecting citizens.</p><p>It didn't freeze Merlin as it had when he'd first felt it, when he'd seen the old man torn apart—maybe because he had a physical body to prevent it, maybe because he'd gotten used it. But he still felt an intense nausea. Ignoring it, he raced down the stairs as fast as he could without feeling like he might fall. He still almost tripped when he hit the bottom, though he recovered himself quickly.</p><p>He could hear shouting and screams from the courtyard, could hear the Sluagh—but not in his head, he realized with horror. Outside, through the windows, the creatures chuckled and called for flesh and souls.</p><p>The warlock tried to shut his ears to the noise as his thoughts flew through his head faster than his pounding heart. How had the shield fallen? He hadn't felt Morgana and her mages penetrate it; it was like it had simply faded. There should've been magical power enough to last for weeks—he'd checked.</p><p>But it dawned on him as he saw that the door leading to the dragon's cavern was ajar. The runes. Someone had disrupted them. Why hadn't he re-locked the door?</p><p>But there was no time for guilt or regret: the Sluagh were in the city, sorcerers were in the city, <em>Morgana </em>was in the city. But… Would the shield only trap them inside? Merlin shook his head, trying to clear his unhelpful, panicked thoughts. The shield was one-way, allowing anything with the Sluagh's taint to leave—a precaution he'd put in place in case any of Morgana's people had been inside the city when he'd put the shield up.</p><p>But it seemed he hadn't taken <em>enough </em>precautions.</p><p>Merlin stumbled down the steps that led to his runic configuration; it was dangerous to take the precarious path so quickly, but he didn't have a choice. The rune felt cold and empty to his magical senses, though he could taste the remnant of his magic. As though it had simply leaked away.</p><p><em>There. </em>With his hastily summoned light, Merlin could see the problem: his runes had been severed. Without the physical shape to contain the magic and tell it what to do, his magic had left the configuration and dispersed into the earth and air. The warlock knelt beside the breech. One of the main connecting runes—<em>Uathe, </em>which he had used to stabilize the rest of the runes he'd used—had been cut through with perhaps a pickaxe or sword. The smooth curve had been marred, leaving ugly scratch marks on the stone floor.</p><p>Examining his configuration closer, Merlin could see that <em>Ohn </em>and <em>Gort </em>had also been scratched at, their lines no longer melding together. Who had done it? Had Morgana snuck one of her mages in? But no—this looked like it had been done by hand, and Merlin had a sneaking suspicion he knew the traitor already.</p><p>Agravaine.</p><p>The warlock ran a hand through his hair. How to fix it? He'd passed out the last time he had fed the shield magic, but he would be needed to drive the Sluagh off, and that would require a disguise—but he'd be too exhausted to turn into Dragoon, maybe he should change before, but then he might be too tired to do the shield, and both would leave him too tired to actually drive the Sluagh off!</p><p>Merlin almost cried with the impossibility of it all. He should've told Arthur sooner; Camelot was going to fall. He took a deep breath and wiped his eyes—there was no point in breaking down when there was work to be done. That would come after. If there was an after.</p><p>He closed his eyes and centered himself. Opening them again, he held out a hand. There was no spell he knew of to get rid of scratch marks out of stone, but he knew a spell to get them out of tables. <em>"Undēst awyrdnys," </em>he said, and it worked well enough when combined with his will. The floor smoothed, and Merlin once again had a fresh canvas.</p><p>"<em>Forćeorfe stán eac brád ond gewill," </em>he said. It had taken him hours to carve the runes—he'd had to do it precisely and slowly. Hopefully this would be quicker. And it was: under his steady hand and firm will, the runes re-connected. Merlin didn't waste a second being pleased; he placed both hands on the outer edge of the configuration and called to his magic, pouring it forth.</p><p>It seeped from his fingers easily, like water seeping from clouds that had been waiting for days to unleash the torrent in their bellies. Like a storm, but it swirled out of his fingertips, not the sky. The rune glowed, which he considered a good sign. He wouldn't have to give as much as he'd given last time; just enough to get it up for a few days, so he'd have enough left over to fight the Sluagh…</p><p>But that still seemed like too much. Sweat beaded on Merlin's brow and ran down his face, as though he really were caught in a storm. It soaked his tunic through, and he felt a horrible tightness in his head.</p><p>The rune kept taking, and the world went blurry. Merlin urged the magic to go faster. He didn't know how many lives had already been lost, how many had already been ripped apart and had their souls devoured. The malevolence seemed less oppressive here in the cave, though maybe he was simply too far gone to feel it.</p><p>The warlock shook—he felt so cold, too cold, like he'd taken a dip in icy water. He'd done that once: Will had dared him to go out on a frozen pond near the village, and Merlin had misjudged the thickness of the ice. He'd fallen, but used magic to get himself out, dry himself off so his mum wouldn't suspect he'd been playing where she'd told him not to play…</p><p>The memory seemed so far away; everything seemed so far away. It was fading. Had it been enough magic? Would the shield go up?</p><p>It would have to. With a trembling, almost limp hands, Merlin moved away, stopping the flow of magic from his body to the configuration. Then, as he tipped—the ground seemed to be moving, suddenly, just like it had when he'd fallen through the ice—he reached out an arm. It landed on <em>Beith, </em>the activation rune. It stood for beginnings, change, and release.</p><p>The shield sprang up as Merlin felt himself fade, just like his magic had when Agravaine had compromised his runes.</p><p>Merlin drifted in and out of awareness. He could sometimes remember there was something important he had to be doing, but most times he just felt too weak to move. Why was he lying on the ground? Had he fallen? He didn't feel hurt; he just felt sort of dizzy… And confused.</p><p>There was something foul in the air—<em>that </em>was what he was supposed to be doing. He struggled to formulate the thought, as though his mind had been dunked underwater. The foulness, laughter and evil twisting together into one…</p><p>
  <em>The Sluagh.</em>
</p><p>How could he have forgotten the Sluagh? Merlin struggled to rise, groaning, but his body wouldn't let him. He had given too much to the shield, pushed his body too far. Even his magic, swirling inside, couldn't help him—the human body wasn't meant to run on magic alone; it was meant to run on food and water and rest.</p><p>Just how exhausted had he let himself become?</p><p>His body wouldn't cooperate, so Merlin just let himself lie there, sometimes aware of what he was supposed to be doing, sometimes blissfully ignorant. Like a puppet with its strings cut, its master looking over it and willing it desperately to move. But that wasn't how puppets worked.</p><p>"Merlin?" A voice cut through his thoughts—a familiar voice that sent relief and panic coursing through him in equal measure. It was hoarse from shouting, and something about it seemed off. "Are you down there?" Concern, that was it. This voice was never concerned—only playful and teasing and sometimes serious.</p><p>Footsteps, down the stairs and alighting onto the cavern floor. Something flickered in Merlin's vision when he opened his eyes: flame. The voice was carrying a torch.</p><p>"Merlin!" the voice cried, and he wanted to tell it to stop worrying and stop shouting—that he was fine but his head ached. A hand cradled his face, warm and callused. That felt nice because Merlin was cold—very cold. It was good the voice had a body because he himself did not. One of them at least should have one.</p><p>"You're freezing," the voice said. Merlin wanted to say <em>obviously, </em>but his vocal chords were as useless as the rest of his body. "Come on, let's get you out of here—it can't be good with how cold you are."</p><p>That warm hand left his face, and Merlin wanted to cry. But then he was slung—awkwardly—across a shoulder. This was familiar, somehow. He'd been carried like this before, when he'd been in pain. "Don't fall asleep," the voice ordered, and finally Merlin could place it.</p><p>"'Rthur?" he slurred. His tongue was heavy in his mouth, like it wasn't really a tongue, just a wad of dry, rough cloth. And then his brain put together what it meant. "Arthur!" he said, more coherently. Arthur, who wasn't supposed to know, who had found him passed out next to a very obviously <em>magical </em>configuration.</p><p>"Don't move!" the prince regent hissed. "It's hard enough carrying you <em>and </em>this torch up these ridiculously steep stairs."</p><p><em>But… But… </em>Was this a dream, some sort of hallucination? Arthur had to know—why was he carrying him out of the cave? To punish him? Yell at him? Merlin didn't feel like being yelled at; his head felt terrible as it was. He wasn't ready to be imprisoned or banished or executed or any such nonsense. In fact, he was ready for bed, if nothing else.</p><p>He tried to express this, but what came out was something like, "Don't be mean," mumbled between his cotton tongue.</p><p>But Arthur—if it was Arthur—didn't laugh. "I won't," he soothed. And they must have reached the top a moment later, because Arthur set Merlin down. The warlock's stomach was bruised from where the prince's muscular shoulder had pressed against it.</p><p>Then, Arthur picked him up again, but with both hands, like he was some kind of maiden. Merlin wanted to argue that he could walk, but he was still shaking.</p><p>"I'm not sure how the shield fell," Arthur said. "But I know it was you that made it, Merlin."</p><p>The warlock protested weakly, his head lolling against the prince's chest. "Uh-uh."</p><p>"Don't be an idiot—of course it was. And you put it back up again," the prince said. They had to be going up more stairs, because the ride became bumpy. "Listen, Merlin, the Sluagh are still outside. Not all of them made it through before you put the shield back up, and they haven't breached the castle—<em>yet</em>. Morgana's toying with us; I think she wants to watch them kill as many people as possible before she comes in. The enchanted weapons help, too. I don't know how much power you've used, but if you have any left…"</p><p>Merlin stayed silent. He had power, yes, but it was confined within him, and he wasn't supposed to let it out. Also, he couldn't walk. That felt like an important factor when he considered helping.</p><p>The warlock could hear the whooshing in Arthur's lungs as he exhaled. "I guess that was a stupid question, with how ridiculous you're being right now. I'm going to put you somewhere safe, okay?" This was more gentle than Merlin could ever remember Arthur being with him, like he were glass instead of flesh and blood. Like he might break if the prince were to even raise his voice. "But I want you to know that even if Camelot falls… I'm grateful for all you did to protect it, and me, and all of us. So—thank you."</p><p>Merlin sighed. It had to be a hallucination, but it was a nice one. Nicer than any of his usual dreams. Arthur carrying him to a safe place… Thanking him… It was all too good to be true. The real Arthur would be angry when he found out. "You're welcome, Arthur," he whispered.</p><p>"Also, if we get out of this—" They were done climbing the stairs; the odd jolting was gone, and Merlin could hear Arthur's boots on stone. Very realistic for a hallucination. He could smell sweat and blood on the prince's armor, and screams outside… Very realistic… "—I want you to know that I have a plan. I'm not going to reveal you. Not yet, anyway, not while my father lives. But afterward… If it all works out, you won't have to hide ever again. Not from me, not from anyone.</p><p>"And others like you won't have to hide, either. Not if I can help it, and I'll be king—so I can help it. I so swear, if we both managed to live through this battle. And we both <em>will </em>live. I'm not sure what's wrong with you, but you can't die on me. Okay?"</p><p>Arthur was rambling. The prince never rambled—except maybe to Gwen. Well, he'd rambled to Merlin before, too, but rarely, and never about this. Never rambled about Merlin <em>to </em>Merlin. That wasn't a very realistic part of the hallucination. "Not gonna die," he muttered. "Just tired." That was true—he'd almost died enough to know the difference. And even though this was only a dream, he still wanted to reassure the prince. It was what he did.</p><p>"I hope so," Arthur said, and he sounded worried again. That wasn't right. "If Morgana takes the citadel, I want you to run. If you can. I don't—I want you to live, Merlin. And I don't think you can fight her like this. So just, just run." Merlin didn't want to upset him by disagreeing, but he knew that if Morgana ever took Camelot, he would not be running.</p><p>The prince adjusted him awkwardly as he opened a door. The room smelled musty, and Merlin opened his eyes. When had he closed them? Everything was blurry, but he thought he recognized a set of guest chambers located near the prince's rooms.</p><p>Arthur set him on the bed—a bed meant for nobility, not for Merlin, and left him to start a fire. This, at least, the warlock could help with, and the logs blazed as soon as the prince placed them in the hearth. He yelped, startled.</p><p>"Warn me, next time," he said. "I nearly burned my hand." Merlin would've been sorry, but he was too tired and too cold. And too grateful for the fire.</p><p>The blurry outline of the prince—more a blob of armor and flesh with yellow on top—covered him with the thick blankets. Merlin hummed thankfully, closing his eyes again.</p><p>"I would've brought you to Gaius, but he's overwhelmed right now with the wounded," Arthur said. "You aren't injured, as far as I can tell. Just… don't die." There were rustling sounds, but the warlock didn't bother looking, contented with the noise of another person.</p><p>"Won't," Merlin promised, turning hazily to where the prince's voice was coming from. "Pr'mise."</p><p>"Fine. Then sleep." Arthur seemed to pause, and something warm and dry and chapped pressed itself into Merlin's lips.</p><p>
  <em>Oh. </em>
</p><p>It wasn't invasive, and if Merlin had been more with it, he would've enjoyed that part of the hallucination. As it was, he had resigned himself to letting go of those feelings as soon as Arthur had started showing interest in Gwen.</p><p>The kiss was nice, even though it only lasted a moment, and Arthur was gone. The door opened, closed. Merlin sensed he was alone, save for the screaming and sounds of battle outside.</p><p>Even with the noise, he slept deeply. If he had any other dreams, he couldn't recall them. He couldn't say how long he was asleep; the battle was still raging when he woke.</p><p>Merlin's eyes opened, and he immediately tried to sit up. <em>Where am I? </em>He looked around, bewildered. A fire was going in the hearth, and he was wrapped in warm furs—a noble's room and bed, not his own shabby imitation in the phsycian's chambers. His muscles felt wrung out, stretched thin like an old rag, and he fell back onto the bed without meaning to.</p><p>He'd been fixing the shield… Had it worked? He reached out with his senses and breathed a sigh when he felt his magic there. But he could also feel the Sluagh—they'd entered the citadel when the shield was down…</p><p>Merlin felt like he was forgetting something. How had he gotten here, again? He couldn't have walked here; he'd felt so weak after he'd put the shield up. He shook his head. There wasn't time for this—he had to be out there, <em>now. </em>He would need a disguise… Something…</p><p>No, there wasn't time for that either.</p><p>The human body wasn't meant to run on magic. This was true—Merlin had known it all his life because he'd still needed food and sleep and shelter. But he'd never <em>tried </em>to live off of his magic before because it had never been necessary. There had always been enough food, and he'd always gotten enough sleep.</p><p>This wasn't the case. He had to move <em>now. </em></p><p>So Merlin closed his eyes and concentrated. He pushed his magic from where it usually rested, a tight orb of power and light. It went eagerly enough—it was less like Merlin was pushing and more like he was directing it to where it had always belonged, like steering a parched horse toward a stream. Unnecessary.</p><p>The magic seeped into his muscles and bones and tissues and skin. Merlin's eyes burned gold, and he finally had enough strength to climb out of bed. Doing this might bite him later, but right now he had no choice. His movements were fluid and more graceful—like his magic's previous lack had stopped him from having full control over his own body.</p><p>Merlin opened the door and looked left, then right. No one. Good. There might still be a chance at anonymity, though he still couldn't recall how he'd gotten into the bed.</p><p>He had no time for a disguise, but magic worked from a distance, and eyes did not. It would be hard to tell who he was if he stood at the top of Camelot's tallest tower—impossible, even, but he would still be able to help.</p><p>
  <em>There, Gaius, I'm not completely suicidal. </em>
</p><p>Merlin ran toward the stairs—it was odd, controlling his body through his magic and not his will. He took the steps two at a time, emerging into the top room. It was sparse, not used for guests or even storage, its out-of-the-way location making it impractical. Merlin locked the door behind him, in case some guard had the idea to come up and stop him. It would buy him a few minutes, at least.</p><p>The balcony was terrifying and exhilarating; in fact, Merlin wasn't sure why it existed. It was so high as to be dizzying. Wind whipped his clothes and stung his face.</p><p>But that wasn't the only terrifying part: Camelot was under attack. The shield held, soaring above the citadel, but it didn't stop the monsters already inside. The Sluagh flew in miniature hoards. Their forms seemed to twist and shudder when Merlin tried to look at them—he'd see a flash of feathers or fur or mottled skin. He might see one eye or two or three, gleaming black talons and brilliant white teeth. Sometimes the teeth were shaped like a wolf's, other times like a person's, and the blunt familiarity of them was somehow worse.</p><p>They flew by, giggling and shuddering, maws covered in blood. Some had grown satiated and seemed to be killing for fun and not for food. Others tormented the soldiers and citizens before devouring them: flying up high and dropping them, only to catch them again, ripping off limbs one at a time. He could see as souls left the body—color seemed to fade from the flesh, a hollow shell of nothing.</p><p>It made Merlin sick.</p><p>And there, in the courtyard, just outside the castle, was Morgana. She did no magic; she was taking it all in. He couldn't make out her features from his height, but he could sense her magic and predict her satisfaction. Atop her horse, she hadn't had to lift a finger to take the city, only watching as Camelot's last defense—knights hunkered down, defending the entrance to the palace—was picked away, one by one.</p><p><em>That </em>made Merlin furious.</p><p>The sickness and anger raged inside him, and he flung out a hand, his eyes still glowing. He had never needed a spell for this. The clouds that had served Morgana and her army so well began to collect, growing thicker and more wild. They darkened, and Merlin's eyes seemed to grow brighter as he called down lightning, one of the most powerful magicks he was capable of.</p><p>Thunder crashed through the sky, following the brilliant flash.</p><p>Morgana didn't dodge, but Merlin could tell she hadn't received the full force of the blast; his aim had been off, slightly, and he'd struck the horse. Still, she and the beast both fell, and shouts of panic from the other mages just made it to his ears above the wind.</p><p>He wasn't sure if he was somehow enhancing his senses, or if his eyesight and hearing were just that good naturally. It didn't matter.</p><p>The lightning came faster—a bolt at the Sluagh diving for the knight's formation, one at the mages gathering to cast some spell together (he had almost felt it take shape, like an inhalation, air that never escaped from the lungs). The lower town had caught fire, so the rain came next: a great drenching, cleansing rain. The stench of blood and death were overpowered by clean water and sizzling ozone.</p><p>Still Merlin targeted the ones he saw as most problematic. The Sluagh didn't seem to have any resistance, so his lightning must have been powerful enough. They no longer laughed, and instead were watching for where he was.</p><p>No one seemed to have figured it out, in the dark. Morgana had made it out from under her horse, and Merlin levied another bolt at her, one she managed to dodge. He growled in frustration but turned his attention to other things.</p><p>There was Arthur—the knights were advancing, and the prince was leading the charge because of course he was. The mages tried to cast spells at them, but Merlin called upon the ground under their feet, ordering it to shake.</p><p>Morgana's sycophants lost their footing and tumbled, the knights pressing their advantage. Some wielded weapons capable of deflecting magicks, others wearing armor that would protect them from it.</p><p>The mages began to retreat, and the Sluagh had spread apart to make themselves less of a target, attacking one at a time in order to deter the knights and continue their feast.</p><p>"<em>Byre," </em>Merlin ordered, and the wind came swiftly to his beckoning, like a hound quick to heel. It blasted the Sluagh away in a wave, not enough to harm but enough to send a message. Still, the creatures were relentless; they dove again and again, throwing their lives away as Merlin summoned the lightning to destroy them.</p><p>So distracted by this part of the battle was he that the warlock didn't feel the tendrils of magic wrapping around his waist until it was too late.</p><p>Morgana had found him.</p><p>He had only a split-second to think <em>oh, fuck, </em>before the witch yanked him off the tower, the rail slamming painfully into his stomach, and then he was plummeting one hundred feet below to his death.</p><p>The wind tore at his clothes and took away his breath, but Merlin didn't need to speak. Using instinct—and perhaps only instinct—he slowed time to a crawl. Usually he slowed everyone else, but this time he slowed himself, too. Only his thoughts remained free.</p><p>He would die if he impacted the ground—only a Merlin-shaped smear on the cobblestone. So, how to avoid that? A spell, obviously, but he could only think of ones he would have to cast on himself, which was finicky at best. Except… Yes. A spell <em>designed </em>to be cast on oneself. He'd found it in one of the books from the goblin's room, but he hadn't had time to test it out.</p><p><em>No time like the present, </em>Merlin thought. <em>"Gecreæftgian byrla, cbeft ferjgt, stán baan," </em>he said and, praying to the gods, allowed time to resume as normal. He couldn't help but close his eyes before impact, even though he was fairly certain the spell had worked.</p><p>The warlock hit the stone ground with a smacking noise, but nothing broke. The spell—meant to strengthen the body to withstand strong, killing blows—had worked. Still, all the breath was knocked from his lungs, and he ached all over, like he'd been training with Arthur for an entire day.</p><p>The sounds of battle raged around him, louder now. The rain muffled everything and made the cobblestones slick underfoot. Some of the water had mingled with blood, turning it dark and red, almost like spilled wine.</p><p>Merlin lay there, stunned. No one seemed to have noticed him, save Morgana. He could make out her shape, a hazy silhouette approaching out of the corner of his eye. Her forehead was bloody, and her dress was torn.</p><p>"Merlin?" she said, and she sounded lost. It was just the two of them there, a quiet confrontation in the rain. Her eyes were filled with pain and questions (like <em>why? </em>And <em>How could it have been you, all along?)</em>, but her mouth hardened. "I should have known," she snarled. "You didn't just betray me—you've betrayed your entire kind."</p><p>"You really <em>should </em>have known," Merlin laughed, breathless. He didn't feel quite ready to stand after his fall, but he knew he would have to. She knew—Morgana, arguably his greatest enemy—<em>knew. </em>The realization seemed to steal the breath from his lungs all over again. He would never be able to hide his true skill from her, not after throwing lightning around. Not after this. She <em>knew, </em>and here he was in the courtyard, about to fight her. "All the evidence was there."</p><p>"You are a <em>worthless, spineless MISERABLE LITTLE WORM!" </em>Morgana roared. Her hand whipped up. "YOU LIED TO ME! YOU FUCKING <em>BASTARD!" </em>Merlin couldn't help but flinch at that one, still lying, seemingly helpless, on the ground.</p><p><em>"Sweng!" </em>she shouted, eyes burning.</p><p><em>"Scield!" </em>Merlin said, and a golden barrier sprang up between Morgana and himself, deflecting the spell that would've done its best to slice him in two. He scrambled to his feet and backed away, trying to put space between them.</p><p>"Where are the rest of them?" Morgana demanded. "Where are you hiding the fucking <em>other traitors?" </em>Merlin thought it best not to answer. She still seemed to think he was working with others, and he saw no reason to disabuse her; she might still underestimate him, if she thought him incapable of performing feats like these on his own.</p><p>"<em>Wáce ierlic!" </em>Merlin called, but Morgana again dodged, the magic dissolving to the left of her. <em>"Bifian," </em>he commanded, and the ground beneath her feet shook, as it had beneath the mages, though this spell was more localized, requiring more focus and thus a verbal incantation.</p><p>Others had taken notice of their fight, and anxiety began to churn inside Merlin. This was it; he had been revealed. He could hear gasps, shouts that they had found the sorcerer, that it was Merlin. He didn't hear Arthur's voice in the cacophony, nor any of the knights', but he wasn't paying attention very closely. It was hard to worry and fight Morgana at the same time.</p><p>The Sluagh, too, had taken interest. They began to laugh and speak into his mind, distracting him.</p><p>
  <em>We almost got you last time, sweet morsel. How lovely it will be to taste your soul again, and the delicacy of flesh to go with it. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>So this is the sorcerer that has kept us from our feast for so long. I am going to make you pay for that, one slow bite at a time—</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Perhaps we should eat the prince in front of you, just to make you cry—such delicious, salty tears you will have. </em>
</p><p>The beasts hovered above, as though anticipating the outcome of the battle. Merlin could still hear others, however, fighting the knights. At least the mages had been scared into leaving—the warlock had killed a good number of them, and the knights had not let them escape without paying the price of the battle in blood.</p><p>Morgana recovered her footing in time to yell, <em>"Forbærnan ácwele!" </em>Fire burst from her hands, coalescing into a dense ball. Steam rose from it in the rain, and it hurtled toward Merlin.</p><p>The warlock clapped his hands together. <em>"Byre!" </em>Wind rushed from above, so powerful it stung his eyes and pushed him back. But it scattered the flames, and Merlin was grateful he didn't have another scar on his chest to match the one Nimueh had given him.</p><p>"You're worse than a cockroach, Merlin. Just <em>DIE! Forfyllan heorte!" </em>Morgana screamed.</p><p>This was a dark spell, meant to stop someone's heart inside their chest. On anyone without magic, it would've been deadly, and Merlin had to wonder how powerful Morgana thought he was. As it was, his magic overpowered her own; it was the invader inside of him, trying to gain control over <em>his </em>body. She was at a disadvantage, and he swiftly bore her out.</p><p>But as he was preoccupied doing this, the Sluagh had grown bored watching. They dove from above, and though Merlin ducked, one sharp talon caught him above his eye, and teeth clamped down onto his shoulder. He screamed, feeling hot, wet blood drip down his face and into his right eye, blinding him.</p><p>"Tasty," a voice hissed, and he knew it was the Sluagh. He had fallen to his knees under the onslaught, and the one that had bit him seemed to be licking its chops with a long, purple tongue, like a thick worm. "Succulent—your magic gives it good flavor. I wonder how good your soul will taste?" Its mouth opened impossibly wide, ready to take a proper bite this time, but Merlin thrust his hand out.</p><p>"<em>Edwylm!" </em>This was a harsher fire spell than <em>forbærnan, </em>or even the one Morgan had used. With sheer force of will, the Sluagh burned in a column of flame twenty feet high, blazing into the night. It made a horrible noise as it died, but Merlin didn't care.</p><p>He didn't care. His mind raced with the images of their slaughter, with the horrible, slimy feeling its teeth had left, the image of the man calling for help, but he'd been frozen—he couldn't afford to be frozen now, and so he had killed them, killed them with lightning and with fire—because fire was the worst death he could imagine, though he'd made it so quick and so hot only the Sluagh's twisted, malformed skeleton remained, charred in the rain.</p><p>The other Sluagh that had been hovering in the air, waiting for a meal, fled for easier targets, but Merlin didn't let them go. Without a word, lightning came from the sky and took them down with great cracks. He could hear how loud it was, now that he was on the ground.</p><p>Morgana, who had obviously been watching to see him die with great eagerness, paled as he growled, <em>"Edwylm!" </em>at her, too.</p><p>"<em>Scield!" </em>she cried, but still her feet were singed, and the column spurted into the sky uselessly, deflected. "These are no parlor tricks!" she called. "Who trained you?"</p><p>But Merlin wasn't interested in talking. He was tired and achy and he wanted this <em>done</em>, damn it all<em>. </em>He wanted to get on with it, whatever happened next. Prison, banishment, an execution. He didn't know, but he couldn't bring himself to care about that, either.</p><p>(Except for in the dark recesses of his mind, where he worried because he had been exposed—oh gods, everyone knew, Camelot knew about his <em>magic, </em>and they would kill him he would die in the flames like he had killed the Sluagh oh gods he was going to die Gaius had been right this had been a mistake, all of it, Merlin was dead he was dead Uther was still alive and he would die, right here in this courtyard.)</p><p>So wordlessly he called down lightning. Again and again he struck her shield, and the Sluagh, and he wasn't sure how many he killed. But he was soaked to the bone, and the light of his white-hot bolts dazzled his eye.</p><p>Morgana cried out as her shield began to crack, fissures spreading through the small golden globe like spider webs.</p><p>"<em>Edwylm!" </em>he shouted again, and it shattered. Panting, he watched his blue-hot flames disperse before they could do the witch any true harm.</p><p>"You're a traitor!" Morgana shrieked. "A traitor and a liar! That's all you've ever been, Merlin! Do you understand? And I'll peel your flesh right off your bones until your lies and your betrayals are all you have left! <em>Befléan!" </em></p><p>Merlin deflected it with a <em>"Todælan," </em>and a wave of his hand. The witch howled in frustration, and for the first time, she looked wholly and completely mad. He'd seen the insanity lingering in her eyes, in her face, but her entire body contorted with the force of it, and her magic saturated the air, filling it with a disturbing, foul taste.</p><p>"<em>YOU'RE DEAD! YOU'RE DEAD! I'LL KILL YOU! I'LL KILL YOU ALL!" </em>Without her saying a spell, a whirlwind appeared around her, tossing even the remaining Sluagh through the air. Merlin shielded himself with one arm desperately. Pushing out her hands, everyone within a twenty-foot radius was thrown back, including Merlin.</p><p>Without the strengthening spell to protect himself, his head hit stone with a <em>crack, </em>and the warlock saw stars. He could hear harsh panting, screaming, and the magic faded—had Morgana worn herself out? Merlin knew he wouldn't last much longer, not with how he was punishing his body, but she too had to be tired. <em>"Bedyrne! Astyre banonweard!" </em>Morgana shouted, and Merlin recognized it as the spell Morgause had used to take herself and Morgana away from Camelot.</p><p>The witch had fled.</p><p>Merlin struggled to his feet in the pelting rain. The storm had gotten away from him, and the spell, no longer maintained by Morgana's mages, had given way. The sky would grow lighter now, once the clouds had spent themselves.</p><p><em>You will leave, </em>Merlin ordered the Sluagh. Surely they would listen now that so many of them were dead. His head spun—it was difficult to concentrate, and he didn't think he could hit one if he tried. Reaching out to their malevolence and evil wasn't pleasant, but he wanted them gone. They had caused death and destruction despite all he had done to stop them, and it made him sick. Sick in his stomach, sick in his heart, like a disease that had spread from one organ to the next.</p><p><em>I have killed scores of you today, but for those of you that remain, your deaths will be far more painful than the mercies given by fire or lightning. </em>He couldn't make good on the threat, but all that mattered was that they believed it.</p><p>So he called on his coldest tone, channeling Sigan and Edwin and Nimueh and even Morgana—all of the powerful, evil sorcerers he had met. This time, <em>he </em>would be the evil one, even though his muscles longed to give out, only held up by branches of his magic, even though his eyes drooped and his brain filled with fog. He forced himself to seem strong, to straighten. He was a <em>threat. </em></p><p><em>You will return to </em>Flæsc. <em>If I find you here after this, the minutes you have left will be spent in agony. You will not linger in Camelot or anywhere in this realm. You will go back. I will not open a portal for you or coerce you to enter: this is your one and only warning. If you leave, you live. If you stay, you die. </em>He didn't know how many of their twisted skeletons lay in the courtyard, how many had he killed, so many, too many and not enough, not enough because how many had died?</p><p>Silence met his answer. He heard no more giggling, no more flaps of wings. Nothing. Until—</p><p><em>As you wish, Emrys. You have staked your claim over this dominion quite clearly. We will take our hunger elsewhere. </em>He sensed no lie in the words, and most of the remaining Sluagh were satiated with the feast they'd had. Merlin didn't know if they would be able to find any body whole enough for a proper burial.</p><p>And the presence, the malevolence, was gone. It must've been easier for them to go home than it was for them to leave. Merlin collapsed to his hands and knees, his bluff over. Everything was over. Not just the battle, but <em>everything. </em>His life would never be the same, and he was too tired to hope it would change for the better.</p><p>This was it.</p><p>Footsteps. The remaining knights were surrounding him—he saw no familiar faces. Where were Leon and Percival and Elyan? Gwaine and Lancelot? Arthur? Had they lived? Died? Tears stung his eyes. He was so, so tired.</p><p>"—What do we do with him?" one knight asked—Sir Hugo, Merlin thought. Hugo had been kind to him; on one of his first campaigns, he had shown Merlin stretches to get the knots out of his back from riding so much. "We can't just leave him be!"</p><p>"You saw what he did to those beasts," another hissed. That was Sir Kendrick. Kendrick was meaner than Hugo. "We had best wait for the prince regent. He was over that way, last I saw him. One of us should go fetch him."</p><p>"I can't believe it," Sir Mave said. Mave had poor footwork—Merlin knew because Arthur often compared it to his own. "Merlin, of all people… A servant, and Prince Arthur's, to boot."</p><p>"Gentlemen," a voice called—and this one, Merlin realized with mingled dread and relief, belonged to Sir Leon. "Stand aside. The prince comes." They seemed to do so, to Merlin's hazy vision. Everything was wobbly.</p><p>"Does he know—" Kendrick began, but Leon cut him off.</p><p>"Yes," the first captain said curtly.</p><p>And then there was Arthur, alive and whole, and Merlin wanted to weep, wanted to say he was sorry, wanted to say he'd been planning to tell him. It seemed like every emotion he'd ever felt was trying to rise in him, but it all just became one jumbled mess, sinking from his heart to his gut and rising back again all the way to his head, making him dizzy and ill.</p><p>The battle was over, but Merlin didn't know what would happen next. The warlock couldn't look into his prince's face, couldn't see the hurt and anger he knew would be there. He remembered the hallucination, the soft press of lips to his own.</p><p>(But if it had been a dream, how had he gotten to the guest chambers?)</p><p>He was shaking again, delirious from blood loss and wracked with anxiety.</p><p>"Sire," Hugo said, "he ran the witch off. I don't know what scheme he—"</p><p>Arthur raised a hand, forestalling any more. "Sir Leon, Sir Lancelot," he said, and for the first time Merlin realized his friend was behind the prince, brow furrowed with worry. He looked hale. "Arrest the sorcerer and escort him to the dungeons."</p><p>There was no malice in his voice—in fact, it was said gently, almost soothingly. No anger. Merlin tried to speak, but nothing came. He had rehearsed this moment in his head for years, but when it was finally time, there was nothing.</p><p>There had been no coldness in those words, but still, Merlin's heart broke.</p><hr/><p>Arthur couldn't believe what he'd just done. He'd kissed <em>Merlin—</em>Merlin, of all people, who might be dying, shaking in the guest chambers above... And Arthur, Prince Regent of Camelot, had <em>kissed </em>him!</p><p>But when he'd looked at the man, swathed in blankets and so ill because of what he'd done to protect the kingdom... And Arthur hadn't known if he would see him again, alive and well... He'd regretted so much: regretted not telling him about the diary, regretted not thanking him properly, regretted how he had treated him... And a feverish sort of desperation had overcome him, the regret of never—never telling Merlin how much he meant to his prince…</p><p>So he'd pressed his lips to Merlin's cold mouth in a plea, in a promise. In an acknowledgement of the feelings he had never dared acknowledge. For how could he have? By the time he'd had the slightest inkling of them, he had already been courting Gwen. So he'd shoved the thoughts of how charming and attractive the man could be to the back of his mind, shoved them so deep he had forgotten they'd ever existed at all.</p><p>But they had resurfaced, dredged up by these overwhelming, <em>new </em>emotions for his manservant—awe, gratitude, and an ache of sympathy. He still felt like he didn't properly understand the man, but it didn't matter; he understood the important pieces. He understood the bravery and compassion and selflessness, and <em>by God, </em>Arthur realized, <em>I'm in love with him. </em></p><p>How could he be in love with <em>Mer</em>lin? He was in love with Guinevere, a woman who was compassionate and brave in her own way. His feelings for her hadn't dimmed, but he'd kissed another—a <em>man</em> and one of her best friends, no less. How could he face her now and tell her he loved her? Had it been a lie, a sham?</p><p>But no—he <em>did </em>love her, loved her wholly and with all his heart. She was level-headed and kind and just a bit shy. Only, he loved Merlin, too. He wondered at choosing between them, but perhaps his behavior proved he was worthy of neither. Perhaps he was destined to be alone, without a partner because he'd spoiled his own relationships.</p><p>Beyond all of these thoughts, Arthur couldn't believe he was having them in the midst of a crisis. Camelot was about to fall to Morgana and her forces, and here he was worried about his <em>love life. </em>He had moved briefly from the battle in order to check and see that his friend—and greatest asset—was okay, not to have—<em>this.</em></p><p><em>Priorities, Arthur, </em>he ordered himself, moving faster down the stairs. If he lived through this, he could figure things out. The sounds of battle raged outside, and he was glad to see that his knights had held, though it wasn't their doing alone—random pieces of equipment had been enchanted. Certain shields would deflect magic; others had swords or maces that would wound a Sluagh, where regular steel only irritated the creatures.</p><p>Knights that had such equipment were ordered to the front, defending the castle from the invaders. The enchanted armor and weapons made them uneasy, but they were practical men—they would use the magic, for now, so long as it helped them defeat the greater enemy. Archers still harried Morgana's forces, some of their arrows exploding or alighting on impact.</p><p>Still, Arthur thought Morgana could've gotten through had she tried harder. The Sluagh attacked brutally, but without proper coordination, although their very presence disturbed the men—forms that never seemed to settle, changing out of the corner of their eyes. A palpable evil, like a thick miasma in the air—many of Arthur's men had been sick, though they seemed to have adjusted somewhat. The shield had helped.</p><p>Morgana's mages, formed up behind her, hardly fought except to lob a spell at Arthur or his knights every so often. His sister seemed to be reveling in their helplessness and desperation. Arthur, having reached the courtyard, looked out at her from behind the safety of his line. He'd drawn Excalibur on his race to get to the battle, and he held it ready, his eyes darting over the chaos. It was difficult to make everything out, even with the light from the put-up shield.</p><p>The sense of safety Merlin's magic had brought had dampened the Sluagh's own vicious malice, though the prince still felt vaguely ill at the feeling.</p><p>"Sire!" Leon called, falling back from the line. "Your orders?" The cut on the knight's leg was neither deep nor long, thankfully, and he walked well enough.</p><p>Arthur cleared his voice to make it loud enough so that everyone would hear. "My orders stand!" he bellowed. "We fight for Camelot until the last man!"</p><p>"For Camelot!" his men echoed. It rippled through the ranks, and they held firm, even as they were picked off by attacks from above, even as they watched their friends and family and people they knew be eaten alive by the Sluagh, their souls devoured.</p><p>For his part, Arthur began to ward off the Sluagh with Excalibur. His sword stood apart from the others Merlin had enchanted; the blade only had to touch the beasts and they crumpled to foul-smelling ash. He waded in among the knights, defending them from the attacks and trusting them to watch his back.</p><p>The beasts soon grew wary of him—and Arthur could hardly articulate their forms more than this, because his mind couldn't seem to choose an image of them to keep inside his head. One moment the Sluagh would seem like snakes, worming through the sky on leathery wings. Another moment they were shaped like wolves, all mangy fur and long, long limbs ending in sharp talons. But the teeth were always there, and the laughter was always there.</p><p>The prince crouched. He'd taken up a shield and did his best to hide beneath it, only leaving to lunge at the Sluagh. He cut one's horrible voice off mid-giggle, and it dissolved into ash that got into his mouth and face. Arthur had no time to think, never mind wipe it off, and he continued to strike as best he could.</p><p>The Sluagh avoided him, choosing instead to take easier opponents. But occassionally their victims had a surprise up their sleeve—a surprise for both the Sluagh and the knight. Arthur's men could still not identify the swords that were enchanted by sight alone—Merlin had been too clever for that. The only way they discovered this was when they engaged with one of the creatures. This was the only way the creatures found out, too.</p><p>"You won't last much longer!" Morgana called over the din, voice likely enhanced by magic. "Why not surrender and spare the ones who remain? I can promise them a swift death, more merciful than being torn apart and eaten."</p><p>The prince gave no answer, and he knew his men were no cowards to be tempted by the offer.</p><p>But it was true that they wouldn't last. They'd been forced back, through the streets of Camelot, by Morgana and her army—which, at less than a thousand total, was perhaps not to be called such. His men had been picked off from above all the while, killed and devoured, as they had retreated toward the castle. And here, in the courtyard, they were just barely defending the entrance.</p><p>The battle had been swift—it had not yet been three hours—but already Arthur's men had been reduced drastically. Upon the wall's initial fall, Morgana's mages had killed hundreds with waves of flame, though they seemed to have less of this reserve, now. And Arthur's larger force couldn't be used properly in the close confines—he'd tried sending them around to force Morgana between two forces, but the Sluagh had made such a tactic impossible. Arthur had sent a good number of soldiers to their death.</p><p>So here they were, and the prince's only hope was passed out in the castle. Not that Arthur blamed Merlin—these were impossible odds, simply impossible. He doubted that the warlock could overcome them even if he <em>were </em>to wake.</p><p>The prince continued to fight, trying not to think about his doomed kingdom. Morgana made no further taunts, though he could sense triumph in her silence. Arthur grew fatigued as he sliced at Sluagh, trying desperately to save his remaining men from the gruesome fate. It was grim, awkward work to always aim straight up and fight an enemy that was so flexible in its movement. His neck and shoulder ached from the familiar movement. The shouts and laughter and steel resounded in his ears, and it would've been monotonous had it not been so chaotic.</p><p>But this rhythm was broken when thunder roared across the landscape—louder than anything Arthur had ever heard—accompanied by brilliant white lightning. A scream—animal, a horse—and shouting—but from the enemy—Arthur could hardly see, blinded as he was by the lightning—it had to have been magical—</p><p>
  <em>Merlin. </em>
</p><p>The knights' voices shouted all around him, barely heard over the ringing in his ears.</p><p>"Did you see—"</p><p>"The aim wasn't quite right—"</p><p>"The sorcerer! He's here, he's come to kill as all—"</p><p>Merlin must have struck something; Arthur couldn't see from where he was. He needed to find Leon, change his plan to factor in Merlin. <em>Merlin. </em>How had he done this? He'd seemed half-dead when Arthur had left him in the guest chambers, content that he would be safe, at least for a time. How could one man have so much power? To put up a shield, to enchant, to summon <em>lightning. </em>How? How?</p><p>None of the men around Arthur seemed to have figured out where the sorcerer was; that was good. But they were still distracted, as though they weren't in the middle of battle.</p><p>"Fight!" Arthur bellowed. "Hold the shields, damn you!" The knights reacted immediately to his words, as they were trained to do. And just in time—the Sluagh came diving from above—they must have been as blinded as the knights had been—but they raked their claws across the shield—and then—</p><p>More lightning, all in succession. Arthur let himself move, knowing that Merlin wouldn't hit anyone that wasn't an enemy. He moved so that he was behind his line, glancing wildly around for Leon; they had to figure out how best to use this—</p><p>And great sheets of rain began to come down, obscuring visibility. The smoke that had been lingering in the air—Morgana had set fire to the lower town as she harried them through it—dissipated. She had to be distracted; the <em>Sluagh </em>had to be distracted. They wouldn't get a better chance, and Merlin would cover them.</p><p>The prince raced toward the front line, trying not to slip in the mixture of ash, blood, and water on the ground. "Charge!" he called when he reached it, and he saw Morgana's mages—he could see them now, and the witch's horse was gone, a blackened corpse. They raised up their hands to cast something, but the stones beneath them trembled. They were knocked to the ground, and Arthur kept running, trying to keep the momentum.</p><p>The mages and knights clashed, swords flashing in the light, screams as the mages were cut down. Arthur himself gutted one, sliced another, and stabbed a third. It made him sick, to kill so wantonly, but the mages began to retreat, and—where was Morgana?</p><p>The Sluagh, which had begun to dive for the exposed knights, were struck by brilliant arcs of lightning, though Merlin couldn't get them all. Arthur was again shocked—and awed—that the man was even able to fight at all. Had magic been involved in his recovery?</p><p>Well, no time for that now. Ordinarily, Arthur would've sent a contingent of knights after the fleeing sorcerers, but he needed them all here to defend the castle from the remaining Sluagh—and Morgana, who hadn't run with the rest.</p><p>A few Sluagh rushed him from above, seeking to overwhelm him, but he thrust his sword at one, catching its—leg? Tail?—and it dissolved into ash. The other two didn't wait, and one caught him on the forehead as he killed the other.</p><p>The one who'd wounded him shrieked, winging away, but Arthur thought he saw a glimpse of a long tongue lapping at his blood on its talons, and he held back bile. He'd watched them swallow limbs and heads—and a strange nothingness, a distortion, which had to be the soul—and he was about to lose his lunch over blood?</p><p>Arthur turned back, about to shout for his men to re-group on the castle's steps to allow Merlin to pick the remaining Sluagh off, when a great <em>whoosh </em>of flame erupted from within the courtyard. Morgana? Merlin? The prince feared the latter; the kingdom wasn't ready—<em>he </em>wasn't ready. He didn't have a plan for this. His plan had been to <em>wait. </em></p><p>"Fall back!" Arthur ordered. "Defend the castle, and back into formation! Don't let the beasts take you so easily!" The knights did as ordered, but the Sluagh seemed to be ignoring them, instead drawn to the noise of the courtyard. The prince watched in shock as one, a good hundred or so feet away, went up in a torrent of flame. Merlin, it had to be—here. Something began to constrict around Arthur's chest. The prince would have to help him flee, then, at least while his father still lived. To Ealdor, with a horse, a bag of coins. But would Merlin consent to that?</p><p>The constriction curled up to his throat, and he followed the men back toward the castle. He was so distracted he was an easy target, but the Sluagh were themselves distracted enough—or perhaps wary enough of his sword—to leave him be.</p><p><em>Oh, God, Merlin is here. Here, performing magic, indisputably, in front of dozens of knights. </em>He spotted Leon, Lancelot, and Gwaine among the throng of knights, and the three drew closer to him, carefully keeping an eye on the sky.</p><p>"What do you think is happening, sire?" Leon asked, looking in the direction of the noise. It was hard to see or hear with the rain, and a throng of men blocked their view besides. "Is it—the other sorcerer?"</p><p>Arthur couldn't make his mouth move; he just shook his head, perhaps a little too vigorously. A plan, a plan. What could make an entire kingdom support the innocence of man they had seen commit a crime punishable by death? His mind raced.</p><p>
  <em>Some will give him a chance by virtue of him having saved them… Others still will accuse him of only saving his own skin, or having some nefarious scheme… But… If they had indisputable evidence that he had only ever served Camelot…</em>
</p><p>He thought back to his lessons, obscure precedents he'd read with Geoffrey when he'd been sixteen or so summers. Would that be enough? His father had murdered thousands, condemning hundreds more to live in fear of execution and torture. Would the stronger precedent win out?</p><p>
  <em>But in light of the evidence… What evidence is there, besides this…</em>
</p><p>It would be tricky to do such a thing, but Arthur would convince them—convince Camelot—that Merlin deserved to live. Deserved more than that, really, for all he had done. He had promised to see to it, so see to it he would, father be damned. Was he not acting king? Prince regent? It was well within his right to demand such things.</p><p>"—sire! Sire!" A knight was calling his name, urgent; Arthur snapped to the present. He could not afford to be so lost in thought in the midst of battle. Again, he had lost himself.</p><p>"Yes, man?" It was Sir Bolton, a young noble's son.</p><p>"The sorcerer—Morgana—they're—it's your manservant, my lord!" the knight finally stammered out, over the noise of the lightning and rain and shouts. Arthur felt himself pale beneath the dirt and grime, and he was only glad no one could see very well; he had a feeling it was not anger showing on his face.</p><p>He schooled his expression as Leon stared at the knight incredulously.</p><p>"Merlin? <em>Merlin </em>is the sorcerer? How—are you certain?" his first knight demanded, and Arthur recalled that Leon would have been too young to remember times clearly before the purge—many of his knights and soldiers were too young—war was a young man's game—</p><p>"I saw him casting spells with my own two eyes, sir," the knight said, in deference to Leon's rank. "He flung lightning and fire about without so much as blinking. Sire, please, what shall we do? He and the witch are… Well, we could not easily arrest and take either prisoner in the present state of things."</p><p>"I think it best we get under cover," Arthur said, delaying the question. "You will tell me in detail what you have seen." Enough to buy time—could it really be time to put this all into motion? After a month of secrecy, after a month of exhaustion, was it really time? And after all of it—Merlin had ended up revealing himself anyway.</p><p><em>To protect you, Arthur. You and Camelot—you cannot forget that. </em>No, he wouldn't forget. Surely everyone could be made to see…</p><p>He and the other two knights made their way under the shelter of the roof, so that the Sluagh would have a harder time abducting them. Here, Arthur saw Gwaine, roughly bandaging a weeping cut along with a handful of other men who were not so badly off they couldn't still fight.</p><p>"Princess!" Gwaine called, tone far too gleeful for the circumstances. "How goes the battle? We can hardly tell in this storm."</p><p>Before Arthur could make some kind of answer—still he didn't know what—Leon stepped in. "The witch's mages have been routed, and the sorcerer picks off the Sluagh when he can—he is fighting Morgana presently. Only—"</p><p>"Well, that's good, isn't it?" Gwaine came closer, and he finally seemed to notice Leon's solemn mood. A talon had scraped across the knight's upper arm, and the bleeding was sluggish, Arthur was satisfied to note. "Why so glum? We are winning, aren't we, even if some sorcerer is helping—"</p><p>"It's Merlin!" Leon exclaimed, with hardly more courtesy than the knight had had in telling him. "The sorcerer—it's Merlin."</p><p>Gwaine's eyes widened, and his mouth dropped; for once, it seemed, he didn't have anything to say. He glanced from Arthur to Leon as if suspecting some sort of joke, but the prince couldn't think of anything less funny at the moment.</p><p>"I think you had better tell us in more detail what you saw," Arthur said to Bolton. He said it quietly, but firmly, and the knight's adam's apple bobbed uncertainly.</p><p>"Yes. Right," he said. "Well, we were near Morgana, sire, and we had thought we might gang up on her—to get her to follow the rest of her sorcerers, you see, but before we could, the sorcerer—that is, Merlin—came plummeting from above. He must've been targeting the beasts from atop one of the towers. He hit the ground, but he appeared uninjured—" Arthur tried to give no audible sigh of relief, but it was a near thing—"In fact, I think the ground cracked a little—had to have been some kind of spell, sire.</p><p>"And then, well, he and the witch began to yell and throw spells at each other, and we didn't know whether we should try to stop them, sire. We all know magic's evil, but Merlin had to be the one who put the shield up—saved our hides, in my opinion, pardon my saying so, sire. And I myself got one of the magic swords—" Here, he sort of fingered the hilt guiltily—"So we just sort of let them fight," he finished lamely. "And I thought someone had better run to tell you, my lord, seeing as he's—well."</p><p><em>Seeing as he's your manservant, </em>Arthur finished in his head.</p><p>"You did well," the prince said, clapping him on the shoulder. He looked to the other two, trying to gauge their feelings on the matter. Leon's face was pinched: he was clearly upset. Gwaine's was uncharacteristically hard to read. "What do you think, sir Leon?"</p><p>His first knight looked surprised to be asked; their usual course of action was that Arthur came up with an idea, then the knight's opinion was consulted. Leon cleared his throat awkwardly. "I don't rightly know. It's just… Merlin. All that time—except, how long has he—" He cut himself off.</p><p>"We should help him," Gwaine put in. "If for no other reason than 'the enemy of my enemy is my friend.' We've no idea of his intentions, but he has yet to try and level Camelot to the ground, which is a sight better than Morgana."</p><p>The prince couldn't tell if this logic was offered because Gwaine was upset with the lies and the magic, or whether the knight was hiding his true feelings on the matter. Gwaine had never professed to be outwardly anti-magic, but neither had he seemed to advocate for it—not that he could openly support such things in Camelot.</p><p>Leon nodded, looking to Arthur. "I cannot help but agree, sire. Usually I would not advocate for supporting an unknown magical factor, even briefly, but the witch's threat isn't to be ignored."</p><p>The prince found himself relieved: if his knights thought so, after all the pain magic had caused them, perhaps there was hope yet that other minds might be persuaded. "I think we have our course, then. We shall help the sorcerer—for now." He added that last bit mostly for their benefit, not for his. Arthur simply couldn't reveal how far his opinions had swung, from the spectrum of hatred to—to—</p><p>Well. He had said he wouldn't worry about that now.</p><p>"And then?" Leon asked, which had to be on their minds. "He manipulated lightning, sire—we can't easily contain something like that." It didn't escape Arthur that he'd said <em>something </em>and not <em>someone. </em>"And that is supposing he even manages to kill Morgana—or run her off."</p><p>"Are there not cuffs for such powerful sorcerers?" Bolton said. "The king says they are made of a special material that binds a sorcerer's magic."</p><p>Arthur refused to consider it. Merlin wouldn't run, not if Arthur explained it all to him—which he would, which he was going to do, just as soon as they got out of this blasted nightmare. Even if Arthur didn't explain it to him, Merlin wouldn't run anyway. And the prince hoped their earlier conversation would allay any anxiety Merlin had over it.</p><p>The prince shook his head. "No, that won't be necessary." He said it more severely than perhaps he meant to, because Gwaine's eyes went even wider.</p><p>"You can't just kill him in the courtyard," the knight said, barely reigning in a panicked, angry tone. "Are you going to stab him in the back, like some kind of coward?" he demanded.</p><p>Leon stepped forward. "Gwaine, you go to far; you can't speak to him like that. Merlin has broken the law, and the sentence is death. If the prince regent chooses to—"</p><p>Arthur held up a hand, forestalling further conversation. "That was not my meaning, Gwaine. You misunderstood. Should Merlin prevail—" And although Arthur was worried about his health, for he'd looked like death warmed over when last he'd seen him, he had no doubt Merlin <em>would </em>prevail, should it cost him his life. Not that Arthur would allow it to come to that. "—we will not be having an immediate execution."</p><p>The tension in Gwaine's shoulders relaxed. Arthur longed to tell him they would not be having an execution <em>at all, </em>but there were too many prying ears. He would have to assemble his most trusted knights, tell them everything. Well, perhaps not everything. Most things.</p><p>"Sire, you can't mean—" Knight began, but he was interrupted as a blast of terrific wind slammed into their sides, even from under their cover. It came not from above but from the area where Morgana and Merlin were fighting; it had to have been magic. It nearly swept Arthur off his feet, and it made Gwaine stumble. Bolton fell. But the wind passed as quickly as it had come, and Leon helped the young knight back to his feet.</p><p>Without a word, they all rushed to see what had happened. Arthur's mind raced with possibilities. Had Morgana cast the spell? If she had, Merlin must have received most of the blast, knocked through the air. And if it had been Merlin… Why would he have used a spell that risked doing harm to his allies?</p><p>As they went, the prince noticed a distinct lack of Sluagh—he could make out twisted forms high above—the clouds had lessened, slightly, letting in a little light. Some of the Sluagh were rising above even the shield, trapping themselves outside their feast.</p><p>Arthur worried that they were off to terrorize the rest of his kingdom, the outlying towns much less prepared than Camelot to fend off an attack… But Merlin would not have let them go, if that had been the case. Unless he'd been incapacitated…</p><p>Somewhere along the way, Lancelot had found his way to their party, his face unreadable. Likely he was hiding his concern, same as Arthur. Their way was blocked by a throng of knights, their attention centered on something Arthur couldn't see—but he had a feeling he knew who it was, regardless.</p><p>"Gentlemen," Leon called. "Stand aside. The prince comes." The knights parted before them, each looking at their bedraggled regent. Arthur knew he was not so imposing as they might have hoped, but his intent wasn't exactly to intimidate Merlin. Considering their earlier conversation—and the kiss, Arthur thought with a wince—the warlock would likely be more confused and upset than anything else.</p><p>"Does he know—" Kendrick, who was near the front, began. Arthur could almost see—he craned his neck—</p><p>"Yes," the first captain said curtly.</p><p>And then there was Merlin, alive and whole, and Arthur wanted to run to him because he looked like hell. Blood caked the right side of his face, and Arthur couldn't tell where he was cut. Likewise, blood ran down his arm and side—from his shoulder, Arthur thought, but it was difficult to tell. He was trembling, perhaps from exhaustion, perhaps from blood loss.</p><p>Arthur tried to catch his eye, but the man refused to look at him. And his eyes—they were burning a steady gold, the color a match to the shield above—they didn't even flicker, not like flames. Was he casting some kind of spell, even now?</p><p>The prince didn't know. Why wouldn't he look at him? Surely he had to know that Arthur wasn't angry with him, not after the prince had carried him out of the cavern and put him safely out of the way.</p><p>It didn't matter. All that mattered was his plan, and Merlin would play his part well, intentionally or not.</p><p>"Sire," Hugo said, "he ran the witch off. I don't know what scheme he—"</p><p>Arthur raised a hand, forestalling any more. Merlin would be an example—a way to free Merlin and all the other sorcerers in one fell swoop. Changing such a law immediately, when he was not yet king… Even if he had been, repealing the ban would have been a lot of work, not in the least because he would require justification.</p><p>But the justification was here—it was all here. <em>Merlin </em>was the justification. Merlin's actions would defend themselves, would defend magic. The means were clear—as was the sentence: nothing but clemency and a reward. But the how—the how finally came to Arthur.</p><p>"Sir Leon, Sir Lancelot," he said. "Arrest the sorcerer and escort him to the dungeons."</p><p>There would be a trial. A public trial, one Arthur already knew the outcome of, so perhaps something of a worthless trial from a judicial standpoint. But a trial nonetheless, to convince everyone, once and for all, that magic—and Merlin—deserved to be free.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>And that's the last chapter (only an epilogue left)! Thank you all so much for the response. I hope the climax didn't disappoint (and don't worry: like I said, there's gonna be a sequel (spoilers: it's gonna be called The Trial)). Also, if any of you are confused about the pairing, it's listed. I figured with so much Arwen you deserved some Merthur too. We are basically caught up to what I have pre-written, so updates might be slower.</p><p>This was supposed to be out earlier, and while I could blame it on work or school, the truth is I was playing a lot of Animal Crossing instead of editing... Sorry. :/ Questions: How was the climax? Did you like the two POVs? Was the fighting written okay? Are Arthur and Merlin's feelings clear? What about the magic? Also, I re-arranged some stuff in editing, so please let me know if there are weird/confusing typos.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0012"><h2>12. Chapter 12</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <strong>Epilogue</strong>
</p><p>"No!" Morgana snapped urgently, gesturing for Agravaine to keep well back from the edge of the shield. "I don't know what basis it's using to keep me out; you dare not cross it. You might not be able to get back in, and then my plans really will be all to ruin."</p><p>Her eyes flashed in the torchlight. Agravaine was nervous someone might see the light, here where it wasn't supposed to be, but he didn't want to aggravate his mistress any further, and the threat of what might happen if he messed up lingered in her tone—a promise of pain and agonizing death.</p><p>Looking into those light eyes—green, like summer grass—he didn't feel fear, or even wariness. No, Agravaine was delighted to serve someone so—so—</p><p>He didn't know the word for it, exactly. But it was close to dedication, close to madness. Close to <em>obsession. </em>A dark passion, perhaps, to destroy everything in her path—Agravaine included, if need be. It was something he admired in her. A ruthlessness he couldn't fail to aspire to.</p><p>"I won't fail you, my lady," he assured, and not the least worry seeped into his voice. "You only need tell me what to do."</p><p>"Listen well, then," Morgana said. "A shield such as this—covering the city—it cannot be sustained without an external anchor. Not for all the magic and concentration in the world could someone keep this up without help. And if you destroy the physical anchor, the shield will come down."</p><p>Agravaine resisted the urge to move closer. There was a way to bring the shield down? <em>Him</em>, without the aid of magic? "How?" he asked.</p><p>"Usually these things are guarded, to prevent interference—but I doubt my dearbrother has done such, as he is keeping up his pretense of not using magic. So you will have to find the anchor. It would have to be large and relatively complex for such a thing—a symbol, most like. Or runes. Probably it is carved somewhere in Camelot, to make the connection between the magic and citadel easier. There should be only a few places Arthur could hide such a thing unnoticed. You must find it—tonight." She was intelligent, his lady; as the last High Priestess, she probably knew more than most any sorcerer, except perhaps the druid matriarchs.</p><p>"And then I shall destroy it?" Agravaine asked. Large symbols… Perhaps the cellars, where they stored food? Or the dungeons—except with the cells, there were likely no open places…</p><p>"No," Morgana said. "You will wait for my signal. I'll send someone—most of my mercenaries were slaughtered by that wretched beast—" She could only mean the dragon, which she had complained of in their last meeting, not even a day ago—"but they can get through the shield. Not enough to put even a dent in the defenses, but he will find you, yes?"</p><p>Agravaine nodded. "Yes, my lady. It is an exceptionally clever plot." For all that Morgana said she hated his excessive flattery, there was a certain satisfied gleam in her smile whenever he was subservient. She was meant to be a queen, and she knew it; she couldn't help but enjoy the respect she knew she was due. "And in the confusion…" He tilted the last word up in question, but she was already nodding.</p><p>"Yes—it may be the only chance you will have for a while, should this fail. I do not think it will, but—" Her face twisted into something between mania and rage. "Arthur has proven himself to be a hypocrite many times the likes of Uther, using magic so blatantly, even as he condemns it."</p><p>Privately, Agravaine thought his nephew had seemed open to the idea of pardoning the sorcerers who had done this—and he had given no hint that he had been the one giving them orders. But disagreeing with his lady was not done—not unless he wanted to be short a limb—so he only nodded.</p><p>"Naturally, my lady."</p><p>And that was the end of that.</p><hr/><p>The someone or someones who had put up the shield were not very intelligent, Agravaine found. He had gone looking in the cellars and the dungeons; there was nothing, except the steward (who was sorting out an enormous pile of grain) had given him a sour, but thankfully not suspicious, look. So he had tried his luck elsewhere, exploring the lowermost hallways of the castle in the hopes of discovering something.</p><p>He'd come across an innocuous door, which he hadn't thought would lead to anything, except it led into a grand cavern—where, at the bottom, was his prize: clearly magical symbols, carved into the rock. Agravaine stole one of the torches from its bracket outside the door and went down the stairs to examine the symbols. He would have to mar them in some way. He unsheathed his sword and experimentally swiped at the floor—not near the symbols.</p><p>It left a scratch, but nothing substantial. Agravaine sighed, but resigned himself to finding a pickaxe or stronger tool. Surely it wouldn't be too hard.</p><hr/><p>He'd done it. The castle was all in chaos, and the shield had fallen. There was but one thing Agravaine had left to do. He rushed up the stairs—to anyone observant enough to notice, it would seem as though he was going toward his rooms, which he was.</p><p>It just so happened his rooms were on the same level as Uther's.</p><p>Agravaine didn't duck into an alcove or any such nonsense as guards sprinted by; he wasn't suspicious, and he doubted they would remember him. And if they did, well, it would certainly be too late by then.</p><p>The cries of the Sluagh and the dying reached Agravaine, even though the windows were high. He supposed that wasn't much of an issue when the Sluagh could fly. Agravaine ignored the noises, making his way to Uther's rooms. The guards had left their post in the chaos—possibly they were going to one of the windows, knowing that was a more likely entry point for a threat to the king. Or perhaps they were cowards. They were only less people for Agravaine to kill.</p><p>Uther's chambers unlocked easily; it had been a simple thing to steal the key from the maid who usually attended the sick man. No guards were present on the inside, nor was anyone else. The kingdom was far too busy to look after its old invalid of a ruler.</p><p>Too bad.</p><p>Agravaine let a smile creep onto his face as he closed the door gently behind him. It shut with hardly a click, the hinges well-oiled. The chambers, naturally, were fit for a king, aside from being slightly stuffy. The scent of herbs lingered in the air, and Agravaine noted the empty glass bottles on the king's nightstand—the remnants of Gaius's tinctures, no doubt.</p><p>Agravaine approached the bed, slipping his dagger from his belt. Oh, how he had longed for this moment, ever since Ygraine had been married off to the tyrant. He had seen the unhappiness in her eyes, her unwillingness. But Ygraine had put her family first, and she had paid the price. It had been Uther's idea to use magic to sire a babe, and it had cost Agravaine a sister. Then, a brother, too caught in his grief to realize the futility of challenging Uther to a duel.</p><p>His nephew Arthur was hardly a nephew at all, considering. Begot in the womb by some foul spell that, in the end, had taken Ygraine's life. What kind of child did that give way to? What kind of man? No, better that Arthur died, too—and a final end to Ygraine's misery.</p><p>So Agravaine savored Uther's ill look: his cheeks hollow like dark pits, his eyes bulging as though he were already a corpse, his complexion yellow. The eyes—those wretched, wretched blue eyes that Arthur shared—opened. Agravaine found it was better, this way. He wanted to see the light go out of them.</p><p>"…Ygraine?" Uther murmured, and Agravaine laughed. He was told there was something in the face, between he and his sister—the same nose, similar dispositions. And with his longer hair, pulled back so the man could not see it was dark, not gold like his wife's…</p><p>Still, he was clearly addled.</p><p>"You may think of me as her, if you like," Agravaine whispered. "I'm certain she has a thousand hells waiting for you, when you see her again. If your other sins don't lend you enough punishment."</p><p>And before the man could say another word, or call for help, or even take a breath, Agravaine slit his throat.</p><hr/><p>Preview of <em>A Warlock in Camelot: The Trial </em>(Book Two)</p><p>As soon as they had their arms around him, he fainted. Lancelot barely suppressed a yelp of alarm, Merlin going limp in his grip; he held fast, preventing the man from bashing his head on the stones. Leon had no such qualms, and he immediately stepped back, like he suspected some kind of trick.</p><p>Lancelot wanted to snap at him: this was <em>Merlin, </em>not some stranger. And he'd just saved all of Camelot—didn't that merit some kind of respect? But Lancelot could only see fear and disdain in Leon's eyes, mirrored in the faces surrounding them. These knights didn't even know Merlin as well as Leon did; they knew only the hapless servant, in contrast to the powerful, fearsome warlock.</p><p>Arthur approached, face impassive save for a slight wrinkle between his brows. "What's wrong with him?" he said, leaning down. Was that <em>worry </em>in his expression? No, Lancelot must be imagining it. Mostly, the prince's tone seemed indifferent.</p><p>Lancelot could feel Merlin's breath, see his chest rise and fall, which soothed the panic tight in his throat. "Exhaustion, sire, if I had to guess—or perhaps blood loss," he replied. "Sir Leon, if you would be so kind as to help me; I cannot carry him all the way down to the dungeons myself."</p><p>The dungeons. A fine place to put their savior, not that Lancelot had been expecting anything different. In fact, he'd been expecting far worse, so he supposed this was the best-case scenario. Still, the cells wouldn't be good for Merlin: the man was pale, bleeding from a wound on his head and shoulder, and other bits of pale skin were already bruising. Worry churned in Lancelot's gut like the storm Merlin had conjured.</p><p>"Yes, of course," Leon said belatedly, coming forward to take some of Merlin's weight.</p><p>"You will see to his wounds, Lancelot," Arthur ordered brusquely, turning away. There was something off in his voice, in his manner—suppressed anger, perhaps? That didn't bode well, except maybe he would wait to cool down before he decided to pass judgment on Merlin. "Ensure he is as comfortable as can be expected."</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>That's a wrap! My first completed fic. Thank you all so so much for the response! Please let me know what you think, and I hope you all will enjoy the sequel :)</p>
        </blockquote><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>What do you think? I’ve pre-written most of this, so updates should be fairly consistent. The Sluagh are based on a real thing, though I’ve modified them a lot for the purposes of this fic.</p></blockquote></div></div>
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